Damaged
by reject187
Summary: "…Does it hurt?" Silence. "Gaius says I might have this pain for the rest of my life." He lifted the spoon to his mouth, hemmed and hawed a bit over it, and then sprinkled some herbs into the stew. Scar Reveal fic, each injury getting its own story, and interactions with most of the cast.
1. Mace

Chapter 1 – Mace

 _AN: I don't own Merlin. Constructive criticism appreciated – I haven't written for fun in about ten years!_

"Hey, Gwen!"

She turned expectantly at the shout of her name, steps unfaltering as they carried her further down the sunny corridor. She broke into a smile and halted. "Yes? Merlin, right?"

He quickly pulled alongside, panting slightly. "Yeah, that's me." He leaned forward to rest on his knees, fumbling with his burden. "I'm a bit lost, I'm afraid. Are you headed toward the laundry?" He straightened and hefted his basket, nearly identical to the one she carried.

Gwen broke into a smile. "I am! Come along." She started walking briskly, Merlin falling into step easily. "You'll find your way around in no time, I'm sure of it," she encouraged.

He let out a rough sigh. "I hope so. It's been mad, all these stairs."

Gwen laughed breezily. "That's usually the first thing the new ones say. Never fails. You get used to them after a time." She studied him out of the corner of her eye as they fell into a companionable silence. The prince's new manservant, unaware of her study, continued to chatter nervously.

"How long have you been working in the castle, Gwen?"

"Hmmm." Gwen cocked her head to one side, calculating, her thoughts spinning wildly as she tried to make sense of him and answer the question at the same time. "I think this spring will be my…thirteenth? Twelfth? No, twelfth for sure. I've been serving the Lady Morgana for nine years, and she turns twenty-one this winter, and she came when she turned ten, and I was serving for a year beforehand…"

Gwen trailed off, a blush staining her cheeks. _He must think me a fool._

Merlin chuckled. "That's quite a strategy for remembering." He hefted his basket with a wince. "How long did it take you to learn your way around?"

Gwen frowned a bit, but pushed forward, eager to help despite her doubts. "Oh, I'd say it took about six months. I can navigate the castle practically blindfolded now! Not that I've ever needed to. I mean, we _normally_ don't." She snorted in derision, rolling her eyes and hefting her basket. "Prince Arthur seems to think it's a necessary skill. His servants usually quit before he tries to make them do that, though."

Merlin spluttered, stumbling to a halt. "He…he what?"

Gwen hesitated. "He's blindfolded a…few of his servants and made them run errands. The ones who don't quit before that usually quit after….or in the middle." She shrugged and grabbed his sleeve, pulling him back into pace. "I mean, he does the same thing in training. He just forgets that his servants aren't knights." She glanced up, eyes wide. "Not that you couldn't be a knight!"

Merlin shifted his basket again. "Do you happen to know how many servants the pra…prince has been through already?" he asked apprehensively.

"Well, if you only count the ones who have lasted longer than a week, I'd say….well, if you're counting only since he started choosing his own servants….Hmmm." Her eyes narrowed in consideration and she spoke rapidly in low tones. "He's been through most of the lads in the castle, but not all of them lasted a week, and I think there's been six or seven outside of the castle employ, so I'd say…thirty or so?" She paused a moment to check her calculations. Finally, she glanced up and caught Merlin's inquisitive stare. She quickly turned away again as they continued down the corridor. "It's difficult to say for certain. There's a few that stick out as more memorable, more for how they quit – or were sacked…"

Merlin chuckled. "One can only hope."

"Not that you'll be sacked!" Gwen, panicked, turned to see if he was joking, but she was only met with a playful smile and a cajoling tone.

"Tell me about the most interesting sacking."

Gwen's fears for the prince lifted bit by bit as the two of them headed across the courtyard. Question after question spouted from the young man, and Gwen could see that although his feet may wander their way into trouble, his heart seemed straight and true.

They entered the laundry with hearty laughter, Gwen's giggle pitching above Merlin's rumbling laugh. The humid air slapped up an oppressive barrier as the two pushed the door open, immediately dampening their spirits. The creak garnered the attention of several servants already at work, hair curling up outside of their head scarves or plastering to their foreheads. Gwen's mane frizzed noticeably as she walked toward the tall, lithe laundress at the ironing table.

"Helen?"

The laundress paused in her pressing, setting the iron in the brazier of hot coals at the foot of the table. Her sleeves were pushed up past her elbows, revealing ropey, taught muscles. A permanent grimace scowled her face. "Gwen."

Merlin gulped.

Gwen smiled in response, aware of how intimidating the woman looked. "This is Merlin. He's Prince Arthur's new manservant." She moved aside to reveal Merlin, who straightened nervously and thrust his hand forward, clearing his throat.

"It's …g-good to meet you."

She glanced at his hand with a keen eye before finally taking it, reluctantly. "Helen. I'm the laundry mistress. Laundry needs to be in by noon if you want it the next day. I don't do rush jobs. That's your business," she finished brusquely, before picking up the hot iron and returning to the tablecloth in front of her.

Gwen placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she smiled, "I'll show you the ropes."

"I don't think she likes me," Merlin muttered with a whispered breath.

Gwen's eyes twinkled with amusement. "That's just part of her charm." She pressed a bit more firmly to guide Merlin to an empty basin.

A sharp intake of breath met her ears. She smiled before teasing, "There's nothing to be afraid of, Merlin," as she set down her basket near the basin and sank to her knees.

When he didn't sit next to her immediately, she glanced up to see a grimace twisting his face. His left hand, arm across his chest, gripped his right shoulder. The basket hung limply from his right hand, clothes strewn about his feet. Gwen's eyes flew wide.

"…Are you all right?" she asked hesitantly, scurrying to right his basket and gather the clothes back into it before the foot traffic could spread it further afield. He released his shoulder with a pained sigh and sank down to his knees with her, helping her pick up the pieces.

"I'm fine."

She met his eyes and saw a guardedness there. Concern creased her face – she could feel the wrinkle forming between her eyebrows – when he broke their gaze and plunked down next to her. "Gaius took care of it and I'll be fine. Now show me what to do?"

Gwen hesitated, unsure fingers darting toward his shoulder. "What…what happened?" she asked as her fingers found the bandage padding his shirt.

Merlin puffed up his cheeks before letting out an annoyed breath. Gwen found herself blabbering an incoherent apology, trying to backtrack, before she felt his hand on her forearm. She looked back at him and found a resigned smile on his face.

"It's fine, Gwen. Arthur caught me on the shoulder with his mace in the market last week, that's all." She looked aghast. He raised an eyebrow at her. "Come on, is that particularly surprising for the prat? I'm fine, it's treated, and the worst is that I'll get an interesting scar." He turned to the basin.

Gwen's thoughts of defending one of several things – the scar, the prince, Merlin himself – were lost as he spoke again.

"Now, could you please show me how to do this? I've only ever washed clothes in the creek near my house, and I don't think that'll fly with Prince Prat."

Gwen shook her head sharply to get back to the task at hand. She focused a concerned glare at him. "Are you sure you're going to be able to scrub okay?"

"Yes, Gwen," he drawled lightly. "I'm not completely helpless." She blushed.

"Okay, then. First, you boil the water…"

* * *

And if several years later, his fingers found the pock-marks in his shoulder blade and a smile swung across his face with light-hearted memory, who is to say that a mace was a bad beginning to a friendship?


	2. Poisoned Chalice

Chapter 2 – Poisoned Chalice

 _AN: I don't own Merlin. Also, I'm basing this off my own experiences with postherpetic neuralgia. Don't get shingles, kids!_

 _The plan is to update once a week on Fridays. I have about thirty chapters planned. Thank you for all your follows, favorites, and comments!_

A sharp hiss scraped past his teeth as Merlin clutched his left forearm. His eyes clenched closed, and a severe grimace plastered his face. Seconds later, he shook the limb, shot it an annoyed glare, and continued on the path. Distracted by hitching the bags up and readjusting them again, he almost bowled into Arthur, who had turned back to watch him quizzically.

"What was that?"

Merlin raised innocent eyebrows, a disarming smile splitting his face. "What was what, sire?"

Arthur waggled his fingers indeterminitely. "You know, the –" he grabbed his arm and winced comically, releasing an exaggerated whimper, before shooting back up and clapping a friendly hand on his manservant's shoulder with a barking laugh. Merlin scowled in response as the extra weight made him stagger forward a few steps.

Frown firmly in place, he hitched up the bags again and continued down the trail.

Surprised at the response, Arthur stepped quickly to catch up. Pulling alongside, he glared at Merlin. "You didn't answer my question."

"You weren't precisely clear, either." Merlin refused to look at him. Arthur frowned in response, glancing over his shoulder to check the terrain.

"Did you get stung or something? Are there bees?"

A snort escaped the manservant. "Are you afraid of bees?"

"Pfft. No. 'Course not."

"No, there weren't any bees," Merlin stated, resigned.

Arthur sighed in relief and passed a hand over his forehead, moving his hair out of his eyes. He could see Merlin was amused, but the amusement passed quickly as he stumbled under the weight of the bags. Arthur considered taking a bag or two from his servant, but that's what he was here for, wasn't it?

The soft light interrupted by the trees dappled the path in front of them. Bird song and the rustling of leaves provided a peaceful background to the silence hanging in the air.

Arthur was bored. He'd seen nothing all day and he'd be mortified to return without a single animal carcass. Frustration bubbled in his chest. He looked around, distracted, before his gaze landed on his scrawny manservant. A wicked grin spun from ear to ear.

Time to Mock The Merlin.

"Come on, _Mer_ lin, give it up. You don't stop to hiss for nothing." Merlin continued walking, pointedly ignoring the prince's ramblings. Arthur gasped as if he had just discovered a clearing full of deer standing in line to be shot. He clapped his hands to his cheeks comically, mouth dropping open. "Unless you're a snake-talker! Do you talk to snakes?" Arthur waved his arms snakily in front of Merlin's face, wiggling his eyebrows for emphasis.

Merlin rolled his eyes at the prince's antics and shoved Arthur's arms out of his way, albeit ineffectively, getting both of them off balance. "You are talking quite a bit for someone who's supposed to be hunting. Don't you usually yell at _me_ for all the noise _I_ make?" He frowned. "You're talking twice as much as I usually do."

"But we haven't seen anything in hours," Arthur whined.

"Excitement of the hunt," Merlin muttered under his breath. Arthur opened his mouth to retort, but snapped it shut as something caught the corner of his eye.

Arthur pushed him back, sending him sprawling to the forest floor. Merlin's head popped up, anger flashing across his features. "Now look what you'd done, you dollop-head!" he growled in what Arthur knew that Merlin thought sounded menacing. "You really need to learn –"

"Shut up." Arthur grabbed a crossbow off Merlin's bags and aimed into the trees.

Silence reigned. Arthur held his breath.

Then a click, whiz, and a thump.

"What'd you get this time," Merlin groaned, flopping back to the ground.

Arthur grinned. "Brace of hares."

"Two in one shot?"

"Yep. Be impressed!" Arthur turned to bound off, like an over-excited hound.

Merlin groaned even louder. "Prat."

"I heard that!"

* * *

The tents were set up, the fire was crackling between them, a pot boiled happily over the flames, and the two rabbits were just about ready to be added to the broth. Arthur, laden with firewood, approached the idyllic scene as Merlin dropped the cubed meat into the pot and sat back against a fallen tree trunk.

Arthur watched as a hiss escaped his servant again. He cradled his left arm to his chest, body curling in on itself, his forehead touching his knee, each muscle taught. Seconds later, Merlin let out a tense breath, uncurled, then sighed in relief as he leaned back against the fallen trunk again.

A clatter interrupted the silence, startling them both. Merlin's eyes shot open and found where Arthur stood across the clearing, glaring at his servant, the wood he had gathered now at his feet in a haphazard heap. Arthur growled, "What was THAT?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "It's nothing," he said flatly.

Arthur grabbed a piece of wood in each hand and stalked over to Merlin. "You tell me NOW," he demanded, pointing one of the sticks at his manservant's chest. "I'm not putting my life in the hands of someone who has to stop every two steps to whimper."

A grin lifted one corner of Merlin's mouth. "Your life is in my hands?"

The prince tightened his lips in annoyance, a white line running around his mouth. "Nope, you're not distracting me again. You tell me now," he emphasized with repeated jabs to Merlin's chest.

"Why do you need to know?" Merlin folded his arms, scowling as he pushed the offending stick to the side.

"What do you need to hide?" Arthur shot back. He sat back on his heels and glared at his petulant manservant.

No movement, no response.

Arthur rolled his eyes and put his hand out, palm up expectantly. After a brief pause, he lifted one eyebrow and made a 'come on, now' movement with his fingers.

"…It's not important, sire." Merlin deliberately looked toward the fire, avoiding his gaze.

Arthur continued to glare at him silently, hand open, waiting.

Merlin finally met his eyes again, annoyed. "Would you stop? You're making me nervous."

"What's there to be nervous about?" Arthur shot back playfully.

"Nothing!"

"Then you won't mind if I do THIS!" And with a practiced motion, he snatched Merlin's arm and pulled up the sleeve.

The momentum pulled Merlin forward, and he landed on his knees, arm outstretched. "Let me go!"

Arthur studiously ignored Merlin's cries of fury as he examined the arm. Merlin jerked his arm a few times, but finally sighed and plunked back awkwardly. Arthur finally looked up at him, a curious look on his face.

"There's nothing here."

"Of course there's nothing there!" Merlin exclaimed, retracting his arm with force. "Because it's NOTHING!"

"It can't be nothing, _Mer_ lin!" Arthur spat. "No one whines this much to hide _nothing_!" He sat back firmly. "Talk."

Arthur had learned that the best way to make people talk was to wait.

Merlin grabbed the spoon, glared at Arthur, and took several steps to crouch on the other side of the stew pot. With furious swipes, he plopped a few more vegetables into the mix and stirred vigorously.

Arthur waited. Patient. It was like hunting. Although he rarely hunted gangly, black-haired beasts.

"…I don't want you to feel guilty." Merlin refused to look at him, gripping the spoon with white fingers. The broth bubbled merrily. Arthur felt something cold hit the bottom of his gut.

"Guilty? What for?" The cold twisted around his innards.

"For nothing," Merlin insisted. "Because you shouldn't feel guilty." He wagged the spoon at Arthur, sending broth splatting between them. "So," he worried his bottom lip between his teeth, "I'll tell you, but you have to promise not to feel guilty, okay?"

Arthur frowned, although whether it was at the promise or the brown spots staining his pants, he wasn't sure himself. "Promise. Now spill." He lifted an eyebrow in his best Gaius impression.

Merlin sighed and turned back to the pot. "You remember the poisoned chalice, yeah?"

Arthur grunted acknowledgement, carefully watching his servant's face.

Merlin closed his eyes, pausing so long that Arthur was beginning to think he'd lost his tongue.

"Well, there was a rash that developed on my left arm. Pretty aggressive too, according to Gauis." Another pause. A sidelong glance measuring the prince.

Merlin then grabbed a bowl, turned, and with the most forced smile Arthur had seen in a while, cheerfully intoned, "but it cleared up because you brought the flower and you saved my life and I'm all better – who wants stew?" The happiness forced into the statement strangled as Merlin shoved the empty bowl at Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur warned, pushing the bowl away.

Merlin huffed, and went back to stirring. "The rash may have damaged the nerves in my arm."

He stirred a bit longer, pointedly ignoring any Arthur-shaped reactions. After racing through several trains of thought, Arthur settled on the simplest response.

"…Does it hurt?"

Silence.

"Gaius says I might have this pain for the rest of my life." He lifted the spoon to his mouth, hemmed and hawed a bit over it, and then sprinkled some herbs into the stew.

The thought settled unnervingly. "The…the rest of your life?" Arthur asked hesitantly.

Merlin shot him a glance. "I told you not to feel guilty. I knew you would! Now I KNOW that I spend too much time around you."

Arthur recoiled in mock shock. "Hey! That's your job!" But it gave him pause. A second time, he sorted through various responses. Guilt settled heaviest, despite Merlin's warnings.

"You're in pain because of me."

Merlin snorted. "Your head is bigger than your butt. Of course everything is your fault. Can't go a single day without everything having to do with you," he teased as he tasted the stew again, smacking his lips a bit.

Arthur refused to rise to the bait. He lifted a concerned eyebrow. "How does it feel?"

"The stew's a bit on the cool side, needs a bit more time."

"The _pain_ , Merlin," Arthur retorted, annoyed.

He heard Merlin inhale sharply, before turning back to the stew. The next words seemed to be forced through clenched teeth. "…Have you ever burned yourself?"

"Heh." Ignoring his concern, Arthur leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. "Once, when I was a child. I was playing in the kitchen and got too close to the suckling pig being spit-roasted." He winced at the recollection. "Blistered up something awful." He paused, studying Merlin carefully. "That's what it feels like?"

"Yeah, well, that's only the half of it." Merlin seemed to wince and pushed his arm closer to his stomach. "It feels as if lightening sparks through your worst burn while your skin is being pinched and pulled up by blacksmiths' tongs."

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Are you serious?"

Merlin finally relaxed, waving vaguely with his free hand. "It only lasts a few seconds. You can last anything if it's only for a few seconds." He brought the spoon to his lips a third time. "Ah, now it's done. You hungry?"

Arthur nodded slowly, grabbing a bowl and holding it near the pot. As Merlin scooped stew sloppily into the bowl, Arthur cleared his throat.

"Thank you."

Merlin glanced up, surprised.

Arthur smiled, leaned back, and started to eat.

* * *

And if, on a bus in southern Wales, an old man unbent from grasping his forearm with a smile instead of a grimace, glancing out the window toward an island in the middle of a lake, who was to say that memory was painful?


	3. Roots

_AN: I don't own Merlin. Thank you everyone for your comments! They were lovely and very encouraging._

* * *

Morgana huffed in annoyance as she paced in front of her window. After running to Gaius with her concern about Sophia and being told to stay – _like a calcitrant dog_ – she had spent long minutes in his chambers, waiting for news. The physician had returned quickly, but all he would tell her is that he had taken care of it and she should go back to bed. She had returned, reluctantly, only to pace, sleepless, worried.

She growled, wanting to pummel something – some _one_ – and turned on her heel to come face to face with her maidservant.

Gwen's face crinkled in concern. "My lady?"

Morgana breathed deeply and raised her eyebrows. "Yes, Gwen?"

"Do you need anything else?"

 _For all the men in this godforsaken castle to stop patronizing me!_ "No, Gwen, I'm fine."

Gwen paused, worrying her lip between her teeth as she gave Morgana a disbelieving look.

"Really, I'm fine" Morgana gave her a tight smile. "It's late. You should go home," she said dismissively.

Gwen still looked doubtful, but acquiesced with a short curtsey and vanished from her chambers on silent footsteps.

Morgana rolled her eyes as her mouth dropped back into a frown. Gwen meant well, but all she wanted was to be left alone!

Her thoughts turned over and over, as a small seed of guilt burrowed into her stomach. She may have been a bit abrupt.

Hoping she wasn't too late, she stepped over to her window to look for Gwen. A few anxious minutes later, Gwen's curly brown hair bobbed across the courtyard, pausing halfway to find her mistress' window. Her small brown hand gave a hesitant wave. Morgana smiled and waved back. Gwen's steps seemed lighter as she disappeared through the gateway leading to the lower town. A true smile broke through Morgana's concern, and she felt forgiven.

The sun lay low on the horizon as she looked out over the courtyard, darkness creeping in from each shadowed corner. Sleep lay heavily on her eyelids, but her body refused to crawl under the sheets.

Time paused.

She felt the coolness of the window pane pressing on her forehead, the stillness of her folded arms resting against her torso, the strands of hair brushing her forehead. Content settled low in her stomach and reached out to her extremities.

A flash of color caught her eye and she roused herself, coming to full awareness as she realized who was weaving across the courtyard clumsily.

Arthur and Merlin.

Her heartbeat tripled.

She rushed to the chair near her desk and pulled her fur off the arm, tossing it around her shoulders and sliding her feet into the slippers resting near the hearth. Three steps took her to the window, where prince and manservant had escaped her sight. She swore lightly under her breath and rushed to the door, took a deep breath, and closed it securely behind her.

Morgana swept down the stairs from her chamber, gracefully floating from step to step with the ease of one raised in a noble household. She strode purposefully toward the prince's chambers, determination set firmly on her brow. The few servants still wandering the halls took one look at her face and plastered themselves against the walls as she passed.

She rounded the corner to see Merlin carefully closing the prince's door with a soft click of the latch. He turned and sighed, eyes fluttering closed, weariness radiating from face to foot.

"Merlin!"

His eyes shot open, tension coiling around each limb. When he finally saw her at the end of the hallway, he smiled, shoulders dropping slightly. "Mor – My Lady, what are you doing here?"

She strode down the hallway to meet him, a smile finally lifting the stone she had worn on her journey to the prince's chambers. "I was coming to check on Prince Arthur before I retire," she said smoothly, moving past Merlin toward the door. Merlin's arm shot out and caught her by the arm. She turned with disdain on her lips, but softened with a glance at his concerned face.

"Please, don't, my lady. Prince Arthur is already asleep, and he's had a long day." His eyes did more to plead his case than his words.

She gently pried his fingers from her arm and turned on him. "I saw them leave. All _three_ of them."

Merlin drew his lips into a thin line. "Yes… they, uh, left this afternoon." He paused.

She lifted an eyebrow. "And?"

"And what, my lady?"

She inhaled sharply. "Where is Sophia?"

Merlin's eyes grew dark. He clasped his hands behind his back and turned his gaze to the ground. "She and her father have…gone on, my lady."

She looked at him sharply. "Gone on?"

"Yes, my lady." He refused to look at her. "Would you like me to fetch your maidservant to prepare you for bed?"

With a snapping reflex, Morgana reached out and gripped Merlin's arm with uncommon strength. Her fingers sunk into his bicep, making him wince. "Do not dismiss me like some maiden!" she growled. "Is Prince Arthur alive?"

Time paused as Merlin met her face, his eyes glistening in the torchlight. She dropped his arm, hands flying to cover her mouth. "He's…?"

"He's alive, my lady," Merlin choked out. "But why would you think he'd be dead?"

Morgana slowly composed herself, eyes closed, tightening control on her emotions. When she finally opened her eyes, she smiled kindly, pointedly avoiding Merlin's face. "No reason. Just…a feeling I had." She turned to head back to her rooms.

"A feeling…that Sophia would kill Arthur?"

A breeze whooshed past her as she whirled around. "How - ?"

Merlin gave her a little half-smile. "He's fine. Nothing happened."

 _Lies_ , she thought. "Why don't you walk me to my rooms and you can tell me what 'nothing' happened?" She turned her back to Merlin and strode down the hall, letting him catch up.

"Well, it's a bit difficult to explain nothing, my lady," she could hear him muttering as he quickened his steps. She heard his uneven steps _cla-DONK_ ing down the corridor before evening out with her gliding pace. Out of the corner of her eye she caught the dark red of his kerchief bobbing in step with her and she let a small smile grace her lips.

"Talk, Merlin."

"Well, my lady," he exhaled, "as soon as Gaius found me, I ran after them. They'd gotten a bit of distance on me and it took a bit to catch up. I came upon them near a lake."

"A lake?" Morgana interrupted.

Merlin gave her a side-long glance. "Yes, a lake. They were…camping near there. Uh, Arthur had gone off to…gather firewood –"

Morgana snorted. "Sure. 'Gather firewood'. You know, you can just say he was taking a leak."

Merlin quirked an eyebrow. "Watering the trees?"

"Making his bladder gladder?"

"Seeing a man about a horse?"

"Going where even the king goes alone?"

The two graduated from twitching lips to barely withheld chuckles, but when Morgana snorted, she looked aghast, and all bets were off. The worries of the day had caught them both, it seemed, and neither had the emotional wherewithal to control their laughter. Merlin tipped over, holding his stomach and curling into the fetal position, and he continued to laugh between wheezes. Morgana weakly leaned against the wall, sinking slowly to the floor as she tried to stop snorting between choked chortles.

Stomachs sore, they finally wiped tears from their eyes and sat up, but one look at each other sent them into peals of laughter once again. They barely noticed the door creaking open behind them.

"For shame!" a scandalized voice cut through their laughter. "And so late at night! There are people trying to sleep!" Morgana's eyes went wide with repressed humor and she quickly rose to her feet, helped Merlin up, and the two skeedaddled down the corridor toward Morgana's rooms. The voice followed them for several minutes, then cut itself off with a slamming door. Morgana and Merlin tried not to look at each other, inane smiles plastered on their faces.

They made it to the base of the short staircase leading up to Morgana's chamber, barely keeping their laughter in check, when Merlin stopped abruptly. Morgana was already on the first step when she realized Merlin wasn't following her. She turned, laughter still clinging to her.

Merlin had taken a step back and wore a closed expression. "Thank you, my lady. Goodnight," he said stiffly, and turned to go.

"Merlin?" she called softly, halting him before he could take even two steps. He looked at her but did not turn around. "Would you….would you come up with me?"

He raised an eyebrow in confusion and turned to face her. "For what purpose, my lady?"

She sighed, the giddy mood dissipating into the night air. "I – I just – " She paused, uncertain.

"Morgana?"

She refused to look at him. "It's fine."

"No, it's not." She heard him approach. "What's wrong?"

Morgana finally looked at him. "Would you just….come up and talk to me?"

She saw him hesitate a moment before nodding his head. "Of course, my lady."

She sought his eyes with her own. "Please. Call me Morgana."

She paused, then tightened her lips and started up the stairs. She had nearly reached the top when she turned to find Merlin still on the second stair, leaning heavily on the rail and trying to jump with only his right foot from step to step.

"Merlin?"

He barely looked up. "Yep?"

"What are you doing?"

"Climbing the stairs." His toned implied _of course, don't you have eyes?_

"You're doing so in an irregular fashion."

"Well, I'm obviously not the most fashionable person around, am I?"

Morgana sighed. "Do you need some assistance?"

"Nope, I'm fine."

"Gaius?"

"Nope. I'm coming up."

She rolled her eyes. _Fine, be stubborn._ But she watched his progress anyway. When at the fifth step he flailed and barely kept himself upright, she marched down the stairs, put his left arm around her shoulders, and helped him the rest of the way up. At the top, he limped, favoring his left foot, and followed Morgana into her chambers.

His _cla-DONK_ pace slowed, then stopped just inside the doorway. "Are you sure this is alright?"

Morgana set her fur on her desk. "What do you mean?"

Merlin stood awkwardly in the entrance. "I mean, I'm a man….and a servant. You're a lady." He paused. "We're alone."

"And I'm not planning on ravishing you." She lifted an eyebrow. "Are you planning anything dastardly?"

An awkward smile split his face. "No, of course not." He still did not move to shut the door behind him, and Morgana let him leave the portal open.

She smiled in return and motioned him to one of the two chairs sitting near the hearth. "Now what did you do to your foot?"

He eased into the chair and flexed the offending appendage, wincing. "When you're running, you don't always look where you're going. The woods are chock full of annoying obstacles." He grimaced. Morgana noticed a bit of dirt on his earlobe. "I tripped over a root and I heard a pop, snap sound. I didn't realize how much I'd banged it up until a few minutes ago."

"Have you seen Gaius yet?"

Merlin shot her a glance. "I barely got the prince into bed before you caught me, so I haven't had the chance."

She paled slightly, but shrugged off the guilt with a look at Merlin's face. He seemed peaceful, eyes closed in the warmth emanating from the fireplace.

"Now, finish the story."

"Hmm?"

"How'd you get Arthur to come back to Camelot with you?"

"Oh!" Merlin blinked slowly and sat up a bit, elbows resting on the chair's arms. "Well, once I found Arthur…attending to the call of nature," and they shared a chuckle, "I realized I had once chance to, uh, snatch him while he was off-guard and unarmed. So…I picked up a rotten log nearby and…" here he turned sheepish, a red flush growing across his cheeks, "I may have broken it over his head?"

Morgana roared with laughter, tears streaming down her face. Several snorts later, she wiped away the tears and added, "Oh, Merlin, that is just…the best thing I've heard all day!" He smiled widely at her mirth.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I had to, uh, get him put back together before dragging his heavy butt all the way back to Camelot." He screwed up his face and stuck out his tongue.

Morgana chuckled again, but sobered quickly. "And Sophia and her father just – didn't notice?"

He shrugged. "I think they were away gathering water or something. I didn't see them while I was there or on the way back."

She hesitated a moment. "Do you think they'll be alright out there…without a bodyguard?" She frowned. "I mean, they were attacked in the first place."

"They can take care of themselves."

Morgana was surprised as the hardness in his tone. Granted, she didn't necessarily feel despair at seeing their backsides either, but it seemed a bit callous. _Ah, well. At least my dream….well, that's not one I want to come true._

She was broken out of her reverie by an audible grimace from her hearthmate. She saw him flexing his foot and clenching his jaw.

"Are you okay? Should I call for Gaius?"

"No, I can just go down to him later."

"What do you think is wrong?"

"Well, with the pop, and the snap," his voice sank, "I may have broken something."

She sat up with a start. "Merlin!"

He waved her off. "No, don't worry, Morgana! It only hurts a bit."

"We should probably take a look at it. Take off your boot."

He looked at her incredulously. "Take off…my boot? Morgana, it's – "

"It's what?" He didn't respond. "Merlin," she cajoled, "I don't care about station or what have you. Now take off your boot." She sat back, feeling triumphant.

"Wasn't gonna say that," Merlin muttered, barely audible, but he lifted his knee to remove his footwear. It wasn't without grimacing and a yelp, but the boot was finally worked off, and Merlin set his foot down gingerly.

"Merlin," Morgana breathed, looking at the foot in shock.

The top of his left foot was mottled with bruises, all meeting and growing into a mismatched mass of ugly blues and blacks. The foot looked swollen and puffy from ankle to toes. Merlin bit back a gasp of pain as air hit the exposed skin, and the firelight dancing across the injury did it no favors.

"What do you need?"

"Probably," he screwed up his face in thought, "Gaius' bruise balm, a tight bandage, and a pain reliever."

Morgana shot up and started rummaging around in her desk. "I think I have a pain reliever in here. No bruise balm…oh! Here's a bandage!" She held up the bandage and a small vial triumphantly to see Merlin staring in shock.

His eyes were wide as he muttered, "Thank you, Morgana, but I don't want to take your supplies. I can just go to Gaius."

She faltered. "I guess." She set the items on the desk, feeling foolish.

"But…both the bandage and the potion will help me get to him. If you don't mind."

She brightened again. "Not at all!" She brought them both over and handed them to Merlin, who downed the vial in one gulp, grimacing as it disappeared. He took the bandage, propped his foot up on the opposite knee, and began winding the fabric around the swelling appendage.

"Why did you come up here if you needed to get back home?"

He paused in his bandaging. "You seemed to need some company." He continued the work without looking up.

She sighed. "I had already sent Gwen home because I thought I wanted to be alone. But," and here she worried her lip between her teeth, "I think I just wanted to be with a friend."

Merlin turned to her sharply, eyebrows shooting up in surprise. "A….a friend?"

She laughed. "Yes, a friend, Merlin. Is that so hard to understand?"

"But…" he trailed off, looking at her as though she were entirely foreign.

"But what?"

"I'm…just a servant."

Morgana twitched an eyebrow at him. "You don't see Gwen running off to save Arthur from himself. Or Helen coming up to talk to me even when she's tired. Or George going out of his way to make sure the children in Lower Town have enough to eat." She leaned forward and stared until she was sure she held his attention. "You do."

Merlin broke their gaze and snorted in response, tying off the bandage with a sniff. "It's nothing," he muttered.

"It _is_ something, Merlin." She leaned back, relaxing in her chair. "And people notice."

Merlin flushed from ears to neck, staring into the flames. His shoulders hunched up around his ears and his hands were stuck firmly under his thighs as he leaned forward. When he began speaking, she barely heard his whispered words.

"Th…thank you, my lady." Though he refused to look at her, she could see the firelight reflecting in his overly watery eyes, the slight shake in his hunched shoulders. She sat silently, watching him bring his emotions under control.

He finally calmed and started to stand. "It's been a long day. I should be heading to bed. Do you need anything else, my lady?"

"Just call me Morgana. That's it."

He paused awkwardly, arms akimbo as he balanced on the heel of his damaged foot.

"Do you need help getting back down the stairs?"

He shook his head, shooting her a watery smile. "No, but thank you….Morgana." He limped over to the door, having scooped up his boot on the way. He paused in the doorway.

"Sweet dreams."

She raised a hand in farewell. "Thank you. Sleep well, Merlin."

He nodded, then disappeared from the portal, the door quietly clicking shut behind him.

Morgana relaxed in front of the fire, growing drowsy as she considered her encounter with the young manservant.

Gwen found her the next morning curled up in the chair near the dying hearth, a small smile on her sleeping face.

* * *

And if hundreds of years later, a deceptively young man still struggled with his conflicting feelings about a beautiful brunette, who was to say that was a unique situation?


	4. Stocks

_AN: I do not own Merlin._

 _Thank you to mersan123, Gingeraffealene, gaylelbf, mockingbird13, fire . ash . rebirth, stefanieiyamu86, zendog, Ladyliz2, perichan, and a guest for leaving reviews, and all you lovely people who are following or have favorited this story. It's very encouraging to know that I'm doing something right! Дякую!_

* * *

The door to Gaius' chambers flung open, startling the old physician. He whirled to face the sudden intrusion, inhaling sharply, a hand flying up to his chest.

A putrid smell wafted through the doorway seconds before Merlin stumbled through the door, covered with rotting fruit and vegetables, annoyance furrowing his brow.

Turning back to his experiment, Gaius clucked his tongue, shaking his head as he refocused. Eyes keen on the bubbling liquid, he threw his question over the bench.

"What did you do this time, my boy?"

A sigh. "Nothing."

Gaius frowned and glanced surreptitiously at his ward. "Nothing doesn't get you thrown in the stocks. What did you do?"

"Stupid Arthur," Merlin mumbled as he pulled off his tunic. "Stupid girls." He stifled a groan as he tugged the offending garment off his head.

Gaius watched him stumble toward his bedroom with concern. Merlin was usually able to brush these things off. Even an afternoon in the stocks usually didn't faze him other than to ramp up his ire toward the prince.

But after one look at the boy's torso, Gaius connected the dots.

"Eh…Merlin?"

The boy paused with one foot on the steps leading to his room, turning to face his guardian. His eyes were dull, and not even a hint of a smile tipped the corners of his mouth. Lines wound their way from his forehead to where his brows met, puckered in annoyance and put-upon patience. One hand held his tunic loosely.

"Yeah?"

"Clean up quickly and come back down, will you?"

"Yeah," he answered flatly, and the door to his small room shut firmly behind him.

Gaius bustled around the room gathering supplies for his task, putting his experiment on a low burner and laying out several vials and some bandaging. The moments ticked by as he waited for his ward to re-emerge, and he used his impatience to straighten up a shelf or two. By his third shelf, he'd had enough.

"Merlin!"

Silence.

Gaius narrowed his eyes and headed straight to Merlin's door. But as soon as he reached for the handle, the door flew open and Merlin stood, clean and dressed, in the portal.

"What do you need, Gaius?" Merlin spoke as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders, which, Gaius assumed, felt very true to the young man.

"Come, sit." He motioned to the bench near his laid-out supplies, and guided the plodding boy slowly over to the seat. "Remove your shirt, if you will."

"I'm fine, Gaius." Merlin kept his eyes trained on the floor and attempted to walk past the bench. Gaius grabbed his shoulders and gently but forcefully seated him, leaning in to look Merlin in the eye.

"You're not, and don't try to tell me otherwise. I'm old, not blind," Gaius intoned. "Now are you going to disrobe or will I have to do it for you?"

Merlin half-heartedly rolled his eyes and reached for the hem of his shirt. Halfway up, his face obscured by the cloth, he let out a muffled cry and Gaius leaned over to lend him a hand.

Shirt removed, Gaius was able to see more clearly the damage he had glimpsed before. Merlin's wrists were chafed red and bruised from the manacles, and his shoulders were bruised from top all the way around to his armpits. A small abrasion hid in his hair at the base of his skull, presumably from flinching back into the wooden stock. All this was expected.

The lash marks on his back were not.

Gaius tended the bruising and chafing easily, binding his wrists and brushing a salve onto his shoulders.

"Now, Merlin," Gaius grunted as he rose and headed for more supplies, "tell me what happened." Bottles and vials clinked through his fingers as he waited out Merlin's silence.

"I think Uther just got…fed up with me."

Gaius pushed down the annoyance he felt at the young prince for putting his manservant in such a position. He kept his silence, fingers finally finding that blasted jar of honey.

He turned, seeing Merlin with his forehead resting on crossed arms over the table, back exposed for treatment. The scene wriggled uncomfortably in his bowels, but he pushed down his anger and stepped toward the young man.

"I'm not very good at this, am I, Gaius?" Merlin mumbled as Gaius situated himself on the bench.

Gaius raised an eyebrow, dipping his fingers in the jar. "Good at what?"

Merlin hissed as the honey made contact with the lashes. "Being…normal?" He relaxed his back but his hands closed into fists. "Being a good servant." He took in a shuddering sigh. "A good man."

Gaius paused in his ministrations. He set the honey jar down on the table and brought Merlin up so they could face each other. "What happened, Merlin?" He searched the younger man's face for answers, and wasn't surprised when he dropped his head back down to study the worn wood of the bench.

He watched as Merlin's eyes moistened, his lips puckered into a tight line, and his head dropped even further, hiding his face. Silent sobs wracked his shoulders and he covered his eyes with a hand.

Gaius' heart dropped. He carefully wrapped an arm around Merlin's shoulders, pulling the boy's head to his chest and trying to avoid aggravating any injuries.

Long moments passed. Gradually, between sniffles and stifled sobs, Merlin choked out a story of lying for the prince one too many times so the prince could go gallivanting off to woo some fair maiden.

"And…And Uther found out I was lying… _hic_ …and decided that Ar…Ar…Arthur should mete out of the p-p-punishment." He gulped back another wave of tears. "He…he said that Arthur needed to learn the c-c-consequences of his actions." Merlin tried to hold back another sob but was thwarted by his trembling chin. "He – he called me stupid…and a waste of fresh air…and- and an idiot." He wiped his eyes uselessly. "I don't know why I'm crying, he's called me that before…"

Gaius let him cry it out a big longer, shushing and crooning and petting his hair, sympathy rising for the sensitive young man in his care. Once he seemed to settle a bit, Gaius pulled away and looked Merlin in his wet, seeping eyes.

"Alright, young man, this is what we're going to do." He purposefully hoisted the jar of honey. "First, we're going to tend your wounds." Merlin nodded dumbly. "Then, you're going to eat something. You'll feel a bit better." Merlin sighed but nodded again. Gaius lifted an eyebrow and began treating the lash marks again.

"You know that you're not stupid, Merlin." The young man shifted a bit but refused to acknowledge the statement. "You're not stupid, and you're not abnormal or a monster. You were born with special talents, and you use them well." Merlin lifted his head questioningly. "Sometimes recklessly," and here Gaius smiled, "but you are skilled, much more so than when you came to me.

"You've improved as a servant as well. It's a whole new setting and situation for you, and I'm surprised you've adapted as quickly as you have." Gaius continued his ministrations but relaxed, relieved, when he saw his ward unfurl his fists.

"Merlin, you can't always control how other people treat you, or perceive you. What matters is holding to what you know is true, and controlling how you react to others." Gaius set down the honey jar again and picked up the bandages. "You have some ways to go, of course. We all do, even me. But, you are shaping into a fine young man." Gaius finished applying the last bandage, patted him gently on the shoulder and gave him a warm smile. "I'm proud to know you."

Merlin inhaled shakily and finally looked at his mentor, showing a watery grin. "Thanks, Gaius. You always know what to say."

Gaius smiled then slapped the table top. "Now, how about some lunch?"

Merlin let out a small laugh. "You DO always know what to say."

* * *

And, if an old physician bolstered himself with memories of his mentor after loosing another life under his surgeon's hands, who was to blame him?


	5. Electricity

_AN: I do not own Merlin._

 _Thank you for all your lovely reviews! Sorry I was late this week - I was away for most of it and grad school takes precedence, unfortunately. Consequently, this chapter has been edited less than the previous four. Enjoy!_

* * *

He was tired.

He had run all the way to Gorlois' tomb. He had incapacitated Tauren's backup. He had hidden from Morgana and Uther and snuck back into the citadel without seeming cagey, and he had finished his chores for Arthur before coming back to his chambers. He still had to sneak back out tonight to grab the staff where he had carefully stowed it outside of the walls and sneak back in without arousing suspicion, which, in and of itself, shouldn't be difficult with how easily distractible the guards were, but it was one more item to tick off on his laundry list of tasks.

Scratch that; he was _exhausted._

And on top of everything, his head hurt, and his legs were sore, and he kept bloody _shocking_ himself on every piece of metal he touched.

Damn Tauren and his stupid stone.

But Gaius, with his kind words of encouragement, was able to lift his heart (and legs) long enough for him to get to bed, where he collapsed in a fog of content, barely having took time to removed his boots.

* * *

"Merlin?"

The named manservant wearily poked his head back into the prince's chambers. "Mm-yeah?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at him. "What's next on my schedule?"

"I thought you knew," Merlin frowned.

"Of COURSE I know. Do YOU know? Obviously not, since you're LEAVING."

Merlin retreated back inside the room, arms laden with a basket of clothes, breakfast dishes settled precariously on top. "I'm doing my chores, _sire_. YOU are headed to the training grounds."

Veins popped in the prince's neck as a royal red flushed his cheeks. "Do I look bloody ready for training?"

"I mean, you should probably get dressed," Merlin shrugged.

"That's YOUR job!" Arthur growled in frustration. Merlin hid a small smile. Antagonizing Arthur was so _easy_.

"GET OVER HERE." The prince stamped a foot and pointed to the floor next to him.

"I'm sorry sire, I really ought to be headed downstairs with this laun-"

"NOW."

Merlin hesitated. "Can't you dress yourself just once?"

Arthur only growled indistinctly in response. Merlin sighed, set down the basket, and headed to the wardrobe, where he looked thoughtfully at the snugly secured metal clasps.

"It doesn't contain the secrets to the universe, Merlin." The voice startled him. "Just my clothes." A shirt landed on his head. "Hurry up, will you?"

In a flash of genius, Merlin grabbed the shirt and wrapped his hand in it, carefully touching the clasps.

"Grhn!"

It didn't help. A stinging bolt zinged through his limbs, albeit less intense than yesterday.

"What's wrong now?" A shirtless Arthur reappeared from behind the dressing screen, glaring and impatient.

"Uh…the…the wardrobe's been sitting in the sunlight and it's just a bit…hot," Merlin finished lamely, shaking his fingers as though they'd been burnt.

Arthur advanced toward him, fixing him with a look that said _you idiot_ , and yanked the doors open without cutting eye contact. He gestured with a wide arm to the folded clothing inside. "Get to it."

Merlin rolled his eyes at the prince's back and pulled out trousers and a shirt that would be comfortable under Arthur's armor.

Oh.

Arthur's armor.

Merlin almost dropped the clothing in fear. What was he going to do with all that metal?

"MERLIN!"

He tossed the clothes over the screen instead, gathering the worn pieces from the floor and heading toward the door. Maybe he could get out before Arthur finished dressing…

"Don't you dare!"

No such luck.

Merlin twisted around rapidly, inches from the door. "What?"

"My armor?" Arthur crossed his arms.

Merlin shifted uncomfortably. "Your…armor."

"Yes." An eyebrow raised threateningly.

"Your armor?"

"Yes! That stuff I wear so I don't die?" Arthur emphasized his point condescendingly with a sweeping spread of his arms.

"Ah, your armor!" Merlin twitched and shot a disarming smile, aware that the look and tone make him sound like a dunce.

"MERLIN!" Veins were popping again. Merlin rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Aye-aye, your royal pratness." He dropped the clothes into the basket and headed toward Arthur's armor. It was set carefully onto a wooden manikin near the wardrobe. Arthur stood stiffly with his arms and legs ready to receive the plating.

Merlin looked at the armor with trepidation. He took a deep breath, exhaling through his mouth, and reached for the chainmail.

A second later it twinkled as it fell to the ground. Merlin bit back a curse, shaking his arms as he tried to ride out the sting.

"What was that?" Arthur asked as he turned to look at his manservant, confused glare fully in place.

"Your armor is…uh…also…sitting in the sun. Pretty warm. Surprising, is all." Merlin leaned over, and gritting his teeth, swung the chainmail off the ground and with one fell swoop, dropped it over Arthur's head.

A shock of blond hair finally emerged from the mass of mail. "Can't you do anything right?" he spluttered from under uneven pilings of chain.

"It's my specialty. All wrong, all the time." Merlin grabbed the breastplate by the leather straps, mentally sighing in relief. He buckled the prince into the piece, only brushing the metal bits briefly and with little pain, until he absentmindedly patted the prince on the back to ensure the piece was secure.

Merlin writhed with the prickly energy that ran through his limbs, his teeth rattling in his head. He finally wrenched his hand from Arthur's back, jolting back with force and knocking his head against the wall. He groaned in pain, grasping his wrist as though it betrayed him and gasping in the aftershock.

Arthur had been driven to his knees with a thump. He inhaled loudly but steadily, balancing on all four limbs as he regained his composure.

"What. Was. THAT."

"Sorry, Arthur."

Arthur shot him a look that was equal parts annoyance and concern. "No, seriously, what was that?"

Merlin shrugged raggedly. "Woke up this morning and metal just doesn't like me today, I guess. Everything I've touched sends a sting through my whole body," he moaned, giving up the pretense of trying to stay upright and flopping against the stone wall.

Arthur turned to sit, glaring at him without conviction. "Next time, excuse yourself. That bloody HURT!"

"I tried to excused myself! You wouldn't let me go!"

"Helps when you actually say what's wrong!"

"Yeah, that would've made so much sense," Merlin snorted derisively. " _Sorry, Prince Arthur, can't do my job today because your metal armor is going to send me into convulsions. Could you please open the door for me?"_

Arthur sighed. "Next time, just…don't be so obtuse."

Merlin shifted. "You want me to get someone to help you?"

"You don't look like you could stand."

"You either!"

They sat weakly, glares challenging the other to rise first. Finally, Arthur groaned and rose to his feet, steadying himself against the wardrobe. He extended a hand to Merlin.

"Come on, then."

Merlin looked at the hand warily. "Better not, just in case." He inched his way up the wall, groaning. "I'll get someone to help you, shall I?"

Arthur shook his head. "I'll get it done. You help Gauis today with…herbs or whatever. Get outside." He glanced around suspiciously. "Away from anything metallic."

Merlin chuckled weakly and carefully made his way across the room, nudging the door open with his foot and picking up the basket.

"Thanks. I'll let you know when I'm less…well, whatever this is."

Arthur grinned and turned to his armor again. As the door shut behind him, he heard the prince yelp a bit indistinguishably, but definitely ending in a curse: "Merlin!"

* * *

And if later, flicking on an electric light made an old man giggle uncontrollably, who was to say he was going mad?


	6. Fireball

Quiet fingers traced the ragged circle of scar tissue.

They found every divot and deviation with determined ease.

After all these years, he could do so with his eyes closed, fingers methodically working from top to bottom, mirroring each other as they worked their way down.

"Grandpa?

"Hmmm?"

"Whatcha doing?"

Merlin slowly opened his eyes to see his granddaughter standing in the doorway. Her arms were crossed, a slight smile on her face as she studied him.

"How was class today?" he asked instead, motioning for her to sit next to him on the bed, then moving to button up his shirt. She stepped carefully into the room, feet more graceful and sure than his at her age. Which, admittedly, was a very long time ago.

"Fine. We started abstract algebra yesterday, finished a unit on archery in gym class, I've got a study guide for a test on the renaissance for history, and Mrs. Jones is convinced we can finish Wuthering Heights before spring break." She leaned back against her grandpa with a sigh. "I can't wait for senior year to be over, Grandpa."

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and smiled. "It'll be here soon enough, and then it'll be over, and you'll come to me in a year complaining that you miss being in high school because college is _so hard_." He whined mockingly, trying to sound like the teenage girls his granddaughter brought over some weekends.

She laughed indulgently, but as she turned to face him, concern dropped into her face again. "I just don't know. It's hard thinking about the future."

Merlin snorted in response.

"It's not fair, complaining about this type of thing to you!" she retorted. "You're always thinking about the future, and you've done it for so long….but at least you know what the future holds for you."

"But, I do understand the uncertainty." He sighed, scratching at his short beard. "I don't know when he's coming back any more than you do."

"Yeah, but at least you know he's coming back." She sighed dramatically. "I don't know anything about my future! Will I be a pilot, or a teacher, or a famous actress? Will I die tragically young or live to be as old as you?" Merlin twitched a well-practiced eyebrow at her. "Well, no one's as old as you, Grandpa."

Merlin took her hands in his gnarled, weathered ones. "Meg, I am going to tell you something that was told to me long ago by a very wise being. No young person, no matter how great, can know his destiny. You cannot see your part in the story that is your life. You must live and learn, like everyone else."

Meg hesitated, but nodded finally. A sly grin crept into her eyes. "Are you sure you can't tell me what my future holds?" She paused dramatically. "With magic, perhaps?"

"Meg, you know better. I'm not a Seer."

"We could go to the caves!"

"Meg, I'm not using magic to tell your future like some…half-priced hack at a carnival!"

"Fine. I'm telling Mom."

Merlin called after her determined stomp, "You can tell on me to your mom all you want! She'll agree with me!"

"What's that, Dad?"

Merlin sighed and rocked off the bed to his feet, cursing his aging frame. "Nothing, Meg just came to visit."

His daughter, Breanne, appeared in his doorway, reminiscent of his granddaughter's pose minutes ago. "What's got up in her tail this time?"

"Oh, she's got it in her head that I should tell her future by taking her to the Crystal Caves."

"Did you tell her you told me no to the same thing when I was her age?"

Merlin laughed. "Didn't get a chance."

"You told Mom no too?" Meg poked her head back in. "You never tell Mom no!"

"I tell your mother no all the time!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Knock it off, you two!" Breanne arched an eyebrow, the move obviously stolen from her father and perfected, at the both of them. "You're like children!"

"I am a child!"

Merlin started laughing. "Stubborn just like Arthur, the both of you."

The name pulled Meg back into the room. "Grandpa, where did you get that scar?"

"Hmm?"

"The one I saw earlier. On your chest?"

"Meg, you know that story already," Breanne admonished. "And dinner's almost ready."

"Yeah, but I never saw the scar before."

"Well, now you did, and now you're going to come to the kitchen with me and put together the salad." Their voices faded as Breanne scooped her daughter down the hallway and toward the kitchen.

Merlin sat back down with a thump. The scar tingled a bit now and then. His fingers found the ridge and began tracing it again – an almost perfect circle, near ten inches in diameter, hovering inches below his collarbone.

His future seemed short when he received the injury. This present reality – fifteen hundred years later, living with his daughter and granddaughter from his…was that his tenth or eleventh wife?

No matter.

But most of them knew about the magic. Some knew how old he really was. Few had accepted him so readily and whole-heartedly as his Breanne and dear Meg. Granted, each of his loves had left their own mark on his soul, and he loved each of them for it.

His fingers itched to trace the scar again, this time in thanksgiving for the blessings his future held.

"Grandpa! Time for dinner!"

"Meg, don't yell at your grandfather! Go get him!"

Merlin smiled and moved to the doorway as the footsteps clomped closer.

"Now, what's for dinner, my girl?"


	7. Vase

_AN: I do not own Merlin._

 _Apologies for leaving you in the lurch last week, and a bit this week. Real life got in the way. Expect rather sporadic updates for the next month, but hopefully this change in season will still allow me to write._

 _This particular installment is a bit experimental, so let me know if it worked!_

* * *

Merlin moaned softly as he clenched his eyes shut. He gently fingered the rip on his chin, inhaling sharply when he probed too harshly. The throb echoed throughout his body, resonating in his head like a church bell. He groaned, grasping both sides of his head in agony.

"What're you whining about?" an insistent, prattish voice sounded from…ugh, _much_ too close. Merlin scooted away from the voice and whined again.

A finger poked him hesitantly in the cheek.

"Ow."

"What hurts?"

"That's Gaius' job, innit?" Merlin murmured.

"Well, we're both here, obviously."

Merlin cracked an eyelid at the prince. "You are such a turd."

"You're the one who decided I needed to _die_ in order to break a curse!"

"Well, you agreed, didn't you?" the servant snapped back.

The finger poked his again, in the arm this time. Merlin swatted weakly at the offending flange and went back to holding his head and groaning.

"Would you simmer down, Merlin? It's not that bad," a familiar voice intoned, accompanied by the door closing.

"You didn't get a vase smashed into your back. Or get knocked out on the floor! My teeth are still rattling inside my skull," he retorted.

"I got knocked out," the prattish voice insisted.

"You agreed to it! And we caught you…and we lowered you to a carpeted floor."

"You almost got me actually dead because of your clumsiness, you idiot!"

Merlin flinched at the demanding volume and glared – as best he could with his eyes closed. "Not totally my fault, clotpole!"

"Let's take a look at the both of you." Weathered fingers gently pried open Merlin's eyelids, and a wrinkled face with white wispy hair floating about it appeared briefly in his sights.

"Why does he get to go first?"

"He's making a bigger ruckus, isn't he?" the physician responded patronizingly.

"Could be faking it," the prince muttered. Merlin could imagine him crossing his arms and sulking like a ten-year-old, and he snorted in response. The action exacerbated his headache.

"Ow ow ow!"

"What's wrong?"

"My head hurts," Merlin gritted out. He pressed his hands firmly to his temples, begging for relief.

A small clack sounded near his right elbow. "Drink this." He fumbled for the bottle, eyes still squeezed shut, uncorked it, and swallowed the contents.

"Blech. Gaius, why is everything you make so gross?" he complained, while the pain slowly started to ebb away.

"All the better to treat you with, my dear. Patients only come when they have to, not because they like my dazzling company or tasty, addictive concoctions."

Merlin grimaced. "I can't imagine this stuff being _addicting._ "

"Gaius, do I really need another examination? You checked me over in my rooms," the prince groaned.

"The walk over here and subsequent rest helps me see if you're suffering any additional symptoms of the potion, my boy," Gaius explained gently. "I don't want to get in trouble for accidentally killing you after intentionally almost killing you."

Arthur snorted. "What tangled webs we weave."

A pause of several minutes, then "You seem to be…what do the youngsters say…'fighting fit'?" Arthur's chuckle glanced about the room. "I see no lingering effects. You're good to go." The chair scraped back and Arthur's footsteps hastened toward the exit. "Now, Merlin, let's see the damage to your back."

Arthur's steps slowed.

"Go back to your rooms, Arthur. You can smack a training dummy or flirt with Gwen, I don't care, but go away," Merlin warned.

"Why? Shouldn't I be concerned about the condition of my servant?"

"No," Merlin scowled. "You shouldn't. Now shoo!"

"I think I'll stay." The chair was pulled forward again. "Just in case there's a latent effect of my DEATH POTION."

"You are so annoying."

"Part of my charm. Now what's this about Merlin's back, Gaius?"

"Well, he mentioned a vase was broken upon it. So, we should examine it."

"Even if he hasn't said anything about it hurting?"

"Part of being a physician, Sire, is observation and listening. Merlin, can you remove your tunic?" Merlin reached for the hem in response and stiffly lifted it over his head, balling it up in one hand. "This isn't your room, Merlin, don't you dare toss it into the wild blue yonder."

Merlin carefully set it in a heap on the table before him.

"Wow."

"Surprised I follow orders from time to time, Sire?"

"Your back, Merlin."

Silence.

"No explanation? Is it on fire? Do I have scales? Am I turning into a bird?"

"Idiot. Your whole back is black, like you've been in a coal mine. It's gross."

"You can leave, you know."

A cool salve smoothed across his back, aided by Gaius' weathered hands. Gaius mumbled as he worked, examining the spine as he did so. "You seem to be all in one piece, my boy, just battered. I do suggest that you sleep on your front for the foreseeable future."

"Noted." Merlin squinted, the pain in his head having abated enough for him to attempt opening them. So far, so good.

"What about his chores?"

Merlin turned to him in protest. "Arthur, I can still do my job. I'm just going to be stiff for a bit."

"Merlin is right, but I'd suggest he not be lifting anything more than a basket of clothes, and he probably shouldn't be sparring any time soon, either." Gaius crossed his arms.

Merlin swiveled to glare at his mentor. "Gaius, I can still do my job! I'm just going to be a bit sore!"

"No need for bed rest?" The voices floated about him, as if oblivious to his plight.

"Moving about will be better to heal it, to be honest, Sire."

"I'm still here, you know!"

"And we also know that you have a habit of not telling us when you get hurt. So, once you stop hiding petty secrets like a child, I'll stop treating you like one," Arthur commented, glaring.

Merlin released a sound of indignation, and glanced from Arthur to Gaius. Both crossed their arms, eyebrow cocked, a disappointed glare twinned in their faces. Merlin sighed.

"Fine."

"Now, was there anything else we needed to take care of today?" Gaius asked as he turned to put bottles away.

"No – " Merlin stuttered to a halt as he caught the look on Arthur's face, daring him to lie. He sighed again. "Yes. I hit my chin."

Gaius turned, a knowing smile on his face. He already held a needle and thread in one hand and a salve in the other. "All right, then, my boy, let's take a look."

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "You knew!"

"I'm not stupid," Gaius snorted.

* * *

And years later, old fingers glanced off the scar on his chin, and a warmth spread through his chest. Scars were more than just memories, he decided.


	8. Knights of Medhir

_AN: I do not own Merlin. I am also sincerely apologetic for leaving you hanging for two weeks. Welcome back to school!_

* * *

"I'm here."

"I see that, young warlock. Do you have what is needed?"

"Yeah." Merlin hefted the sword unwillingly.

"And what have you done to your sword arm?"

Merlin shifted to glance at the tear in his jacket. "Had to get one of these swords for you, didn't I? Magically-animated knights don't like it when you try to take their pointy objects."

The dragon's appraising look finally greeted his. "You should still be able to wield the power to free me," his low voice grumbled.

"Is that all you care about?" Merlin bit off, fire brewing in his belly.

"When one has been in chains as long as I have, one does not measure the consequences as heavily." The dragon huffed, impatiently flicking his tail while waiting for Merlin to strike.

The fire settled to a simmer, still glowing but faint. Merlin hesitated at the top of the chasm, studying the path down to the chain. It was easy enough. His arm twinged slightly, the hurry of the day finally abating enough for him to feel the injury. He rubbed the spot, took a deep breath, and plunged into the chasm.

* * *

Balinor turned from the blond-haired young man resting in his cave, injuries now fully tended. The boy – Merlin? - had been sitting near the entrance, studying the man when he thought he wasn't looking, and glancing away to gaze into the slow drizzle when he thought he'd been caught. He gripped his left bicep with pained fingers.

He frowned at the boy. Who did he think he was, trespassing in his cave and demanding help? But with his head tilted and graceful fingers resting on his cheek, he seemed to remind him of –

A stone dropped deep into his belly and he threw off the feeling of déjà vu, remnants of a more peaceful and happy time stuffed back into a locked box. With a sniff, he shuffled his medical kit back together mindlessly. "Boy!" he hissed toward the cave entrance, barely lifting his head.

Seconds later, the boy was near, not too close, with wide eyes. "Yes, sir?"

His heart softened at the rigid way this young waif held himself. "How's your arm?"

"My arm, sir?"

Balinor reached out and grabbed it roughly, expertly rolling up the sleeve. The boy barely flinched, just took everything in with those wide eyes of his. Was he touched in the head?

"Sir?"

He simply took a cloth, wet it in clean, medicated water, and dabbed at the gash on the boy's arm. Smooth edges, not too deep, little infection. But it had not been treated well, and the fact that the makeshift bandage had kept it as such was short of a miracle.

"This is a week old. Why haven't you had it treated?"

The boy started. "It's...it's been a busy week, sir. What with the dragon and all? I hadn't given it much thought, I guess."

The man snorted and began to wind a bandage around the wound. "You're an idiot."

"You're not the first to say it."

The boy was looking intently into his lap, and the man could swear that tears were clinging to his nose. He chose to ignore it.

"You need to take care of yourself if you want to keep taking care of your prince, here." He tied off the bandage and sat back. "I'll keep watch at the entrance for a spell."

He moved to the front of the cave, standing against the wall, watching carefully for threats within and without. He watched Merlin glance to the entrance, then quickly go to the prince's side, looking over the work Balinor had done with satisfaction. He kept watching, much more surreptitiously than Merlin had managed to do, as the boy leaned back and unwillingly sunk into slumber.

Hunith.

The boy reminded him of Hunith.

He breathed deeply and stepped outside, letting the rain mist his face instead of his own tears.

* * *

Merlin fingered the soft bandage before folding it reverently and placing it under the Sidhe staff, his magic book, and the dragon carving. The floorboard creaked into place, hiding his secrets and his shame.


	9. Chains

_AN: I don't own Merlin. I think in my headcanon, Gwaine has ADHD._

 _In other news, I once again apologize for delaying this chapter. I think I'll have to move this to "updates regularly, but sporadically". You can probably be concerned if I don't update monthly._

 _Thank you to my kind reviewers! Thank you for telling me you enjoy this story, which encourages me to write more regularly. Shout out to fire . ash . rebirth, Ivy Kanka, Vanvdreamer, Ladyliz2, Gingeraffealene, mersan123, Its Physics Magic, gaylebf, and bowties-scarves-and-magic. Thank you!_

* * *

Gwaine stretched his arms in the midday sun, _up, across, back, down_ , until the warmth spread through his muscles. The long winter months had finally abated, and he was giddy with joy at finally being able to spend his days out of doors again.

Of course, King Arthur had decreed a longer training session today, but midway through the morning, winter restlessness had caught up with the lot of them.

"Stop."

Swords paused mid arc, and every eye turned to the king. He looked around, searching each face, every knight frozen in warriors' stances. Arthur huffed, annoyed, and lowered his sword.

"None of you are in it. Take the rest of today off." He held up a hand to stifle the cheer that went up among the men. "We're going at it twice as hard tomorrow, so get your fine-weather feelings out _today_ , understand?"

With curt nods, the men cleaned muddy shields, dried off swords, and vacated the training grounds in five minutes flat. No one neglected to notice Arthur moving just as quickly as they, and within the half hour, heading out to the forest on horseback, accompanied by his queen.

Gwaine had shed his armor and cloak in his chambers. Clad in a simple tunic and breeches, he made his way to the courtyard, no plans in mind other than to chase the wind.

From across the courtyard, he noticed a shock of raven-black hair bobbing through the gate and weaving through the marketplace crowds. With a wide smile, Gwaine skipped his way into a light jog, enjoying the rush of avoiding obstacles such as laundry baskets, small children, and fruit stands – oops, that apple just _rolled_ into his hand – and with a whoop, he carried on through the crowd.

"Oi, you!" the apple-seller bellowed halfheartedly, the call lost in the bustle of the market. Many in the crowd rolled their eyes or shook their heads good-naturedly – it was easier to send a bill to the castle than try to catch a Gwaine-on-the-run, so they let him have his fun bounding like a rabbit through a carrot patch.

Reaching the edge of town, Gwaine smirked, tossed his apple into the air, and chomped into it as soon as it was caught again. Juice ran down his arm and into his beard, which he wiped away carelessly. _Now where was the kid?_

Rapid eyes caught movement deep into the trees, and Gwaine immediately trotted after it, tossing the apple core behind him. In the dense undergrowth, he crouched and stepped, practicing being invisible as he trailed his friend.

A giggle almost escaped him. _This was so much FUN!_

The bushes barely whispered as he needled through, following Merlin's path. The path was child's play to follow, but Gwaine's mind was somewhere else entirely.

 _...With incredible stealth, Sir Gwaine hunts the evil sorcerer, stalking his prey with incredible ease. His head is on a swivel, and he is aware of his surroundings at all times. Up ahead, a clearing opens up, and Sir Gwaine readies his sword to slay the villain!_

Lost in his daydream, Gwaine barely stopped himself before popping out of the brush. With a shake of his head, he crouched back down, bringing his focus back to Merlin.

Merlin had approached a river, the water moving slowly but steadily. Eyes closed, face lifted to the sun, a sigh escaped him. He kneeled by the water's edge and dipped his fingers in. With a satisfied shake of his hand, he stepped to a bush and took off his neckerchief.

Gwaine grinned mischievously as Merlin continued to disrobe. _Ha! I'm going to have so much fun needling him about his pasty white…_

The thought stopped as Merlin's shirt joined the brown jacket and red neck cloth. All thoughts stopped as Gwaine took in the scars criss-crossing Merlin's torso and arms.

Silvery lines were inlaid into his skin. They fairly glittered in the sunlight as Merlin sank into the cool river water, which rippled as Merlin's head disappeared under its surface.

Gwaine took the opportunity to step out into the clearing, focused intently on where Merlin had disappeared. The silence invaded Gwaine's thoughts, and the birds chirping and the rustling breeze became backdrop to his curiosity.

Merlin reappeared with a gasp several feet down-river, startling Gwaine. Water streamed from his hair and down to his waist, where it rejoined the river. He wiped the water from his eyes and face and began scrubbing with sand from the river bottom. As he lifted an arm to begin scouring underneath, he met Gwaine's lidded gaze from the river bank.

"Oh. Hello, Gwaine." Merlin stood awkwardly in the middle of the flow, arm languishing above his head. "Care to join me? The water is great!"

"I might." But he made no move to undress, studying Merlin with an indecipherable look. It was indecipherable because he had no idea what to think.

 _Secluded, but open…secretive, but unconcerned…alert, but unobservant…_

Eh, thinking wasn't his strong suit anyway. He shucked his clothes and joined Merlin in the water. Oooh, it _was_ nicely cool. He stood about ten feet from Merlin, scrubbing with silt the way Merlin did. Rough, yet refreshing.

"Why are you all the way out here, Gwaine?"

"Oh, Princess gave us the day off and I decided to follow you. Seemed like a good way to spend the day, chasing friends into the woods."

Merlin laughed and ducked his head under the water again, reemerging quickly and slicking back his hair. "Me too. Well, about the day off, at least. Well, a morning, anyway." He made a face. "I think Arthur was sick of me stinking up the place."

"Made a few comments, did he?"

"More than a few."

"The prat. He knows you don't have a bath, right?"

Merlin shrugged, the silvery lines twinkling with the movement. "Who knows what he knows. Or realizes."

Gwaine frowned and swam closer. "Not very observant, our king."

"Not particularly."

Closer, the lines formed an imprint of linked chain, pressed into his skin haphazardly in seeming coils. If he didn't know better, it looked like…

"I didn't know you'd be captured before, Merl."

"Hmmm? Captured?"

"Yeah, tied up, incapacitated, ensared?"

Merlin frowned as he sank deeper into the water. "What makes you say that?"

"This chain on your skin. Never seen the likes of a scar like that before. What's it, magical?"

The servant lifted a dripping arm, glanced at the inlaid lines, and stiffly made his way to the bank.

"Merlin?"

"It's getting late. Look at the sun! I need to get back to serve Arthur his lunch."

"Merlin, it's barely midmorning. Come on."

He didn't turn to the taunt. Frustrated, Gwaine swung his arms across the surface of the water, guiding a fairly spectacular wave toward the lanky youth.

As the wave crested Merlin's head, he froze. Turning around, he spluttered, "Gwaine! What was that for!"

"I'll wrestle you!"

"I have to get back!"

"Come on, our portly prince can wait half an hour for his tripe and parsnips!"

Gwaine started his wave again, but it shuddered halfway through when Merlin came barreling at his stomach from under the water. Gwaine was knocked off his feet, and a battle erupted, with water instead of swords and laughter instead of cries of "On me!"

When they had sufficiently drowned each other and most of the forest along the banks, they floated in the middle of the river, letting the sun dry their faces while they enjoyed the rush of the water and the brush of branches and leaves.

"Mmmm. I should get going."

"Where'd you get the scars?"

"Mmmm. The chain?"

"What other ones are there?" Gwaine popped up, crouching so that only his head was above the water. "There aren't other ones, are there?"

Merlin hummed without answering. "That's an old scar, Gwaine. Nothing important. I'd been captured once by Morgana and her sister." He paused. "They let me go when they realized I wouldn't tell them anything."

"Doesn't seem like them."

"Well, it was early in their career. Morgana's changed."

Gwaine snorted. "Sure."

"You forget she used to be my friend."

"…Sorry."

Merlin slowly took to his feet. "Thanks for crashing my bath, Gwaine, but I really should be getting back now."

Gwaine flopped back, splashing harmlessly. "Fine."

"This is my spot, you hear? Don't you go telling anyone about it. Especially not your lady friends."

There was a strange level of seriousness in Merlin's voice. The knight stood up to stare his friend in the eye, matching his tone. "I promise not to tell anyone."

Merlin nodded after a minute, then averted his eyes. "And…put some clothes on…please?"

Gwaine laughed heartily as Merlin scurried to the bank to retrieve his clothing.

Hours later, pruning in the river, he sighed, content.

It was a good day.

* * *

And, in an old man's extensive travels, when guided at a Buddhist temple set on a river to find his inner peace, he found nothing…but maybe a memory of peace.


	10. Serket

Chapter 10 – Serket

 _AN: I don't own Merlin._

Sir Percival turned his horse to watch his patrol safely arrived inside the courtyard. He quickly counted heads, satisfied that all hands had returned intact, and dismounted softly. His patrol followed suit, a few grunts and groans as the long ride took its toll.

Percival hid a small smile in his horse's neck.

He'd been placed over the new recruits, and they were green as a fresh spring day. Most of them were eager to please and easily went along with training, but those first few months were always grueling, especially in the saddle.

Percival ignored his tired troops, who knew to bring their mounts to their stalls, untack them and brush them down. Instead, he lavished attention on his worn mount, who wuffled a deep breath into his face and sank deeper into his ministrations. His fingers worked up and down her neck, paying special attention to the dip behind her ears.

"Spoiled, isn't she?" one of his more talkative recruits commented.

"Sure is," Percival murmured. His recruit shook his head good-naturedly and continued leading his horse to the stable.

Silence settled into the courtyard as Percival continued to pamper his horse, telling her with his fingers what a good job she'd done and how proud he was of her. With a joined sigh, they both straightened and headed together toward the stables. The rest of the patrol had vacated the area and it was time for supper.

As he entered the stable, he checked in on the horses his patrol had taken care of, looking for lapses in duty. Most everything looked good enough, although some training in diligence wouldn't go amiss. He narrowed his eyes at a saddle hung askew, and bits still covered with lather. But all the stalls were shut appropriately and the horses had been brushed down. At least the animals had been tended well.

He led his horse into the second to last stall, tying the reins to the hook for that self-same purpose and proceeding to untack his mount. She stood patiently, stamping a foot periodically for good measure. Putting brush to coat, Percival smiled as his horse shook herself lightly, which she always did right after she knew she'd be brushed.

He lost himself in the steady movements, mind clearing bit by bit with the satisfaction of his mount. By the time he finished, his thoughts were unburdened and his mare was almost asleep. He smiled, slipped the comb onto its hook, and fastened the stall door behind him silently.

Percival hefted the saddle into his arms, bridle resting on top, and headed toward the tack room to set things to rights. He padded softly down the corridor, enjoying the scent of hay and alfalfa from each stall. Entering the tack room, he set the saddle on a bench for the purpose, grabbed a cloth, and started cleaning the bridle.

A quarter hour later, he shoved the cloth back into its bucket and placed the saddle on its hook next to his bridle, smiling with satisfaction. He turned left out of the tack room, intending to find his way out and toward a meal.

His steps slowed with a steady _hrush...hrush_ sound coming from a stall halfway to the exit. He'd thought the stables were empty when he'd walked through before.

Pervical hesitated by the noise, and peered in to see Merlin spreading clean hay for the king's horse. He smiled and started to think about greeting the young man, when his eyes stopped on something unusual.

Merlin had removed his shirt in the stuffiness and tossed it over the half-door. Sweat spread its glistened fingers over his back. And Percival's eyes were riveted to a strange mark, half-obscured by Merlin's trousers.

An oval depression blackened an area the size of his palm just to the left of Merlin's spine. Small tendrils of black reached out across his skin, a few wrapping around his side, some halfway up his back. It looked for all the world like some sadistic black sun in a cursed land.

Percival blinked.

Huh.

Last time he'd seen a mark like that, it'd been on a dead man. The blackened eyes and tendrils covering his skin often made their way into his rare nightmares.

You didn't survive a serket sting.

And yet, here was the miraculous Merlin, once again defying all logic.

Then again...

"You almost done, Merlin?"

Merlin started, a whole body flinch followed by frozen limbs. He slowly looked over his shoulder. "Sir Percival?"

He grunted.

"Do you need something?"

"Just something to eat."

"I'll be done in a moment, then I can fetch some supper from the kitchens for you."

"Get two meals."

Merlin had turned around and was quickly spreading the rest of the hay, his back toward the wall. "Two? Who's eating with you?"

"You."

Merlin paused, then slowly leaned his pitchfork against the wall nearest to Percival. "Me?"

"Yeah."

Merlin grabbed his shirt as though he thought Percival would take it first, and tugged it on haphazardly over his head. "Umm...okay?"

Shirt finally in place, he grabbed his pitchfork and ran it down to the tack room. In his absence, Percival retrieved the king's horse from its tether and brought it back into the stall. He pushed the bolt home as Merlin returned, jacket in hand, trying to tie his neckerchief back on.

"Am...am I in trouble?"

Percival gave him a look. "No."

"Then...why?"

"You don't like eating alone."

Percival began walking out, not even looking to see if Merlin would follow. Soon the shorter man's steps fell in line with his own, and they headed toward the castle kitchens in companionable silence.

* * *

Silence reigned over the cloudy sky. The overcast park bench held one occupant, a grizzled old man in fingerless gloves and a blue knit cap. He closed his eyes, reveling in the rush of the wind and the chatter of birds and squirrels in the tree above him.

That was one thing he'd been given.

A gift of restful silence.


	11. Goblet

Chapter 11 – Goblet

 _AN: I do not own Merlin. Apologies for being away for so long – between grad school, my job, and a play, it's been a little overwhelming._

 _I normally dislike scar reveal stories around a campfire where Merlin reveals everything – so, although there is a campfire, this isn't that kind of story._

* * *

The plates clanked softly against each other as Merlin rinsed them, crouching by the rushing stream. Fading light streaked between the trees, casting strange shadows through the undergrowth.

Merlin let out a sigh, stacked the last plate in the pot on the riverside, and groaned as he stood from a hovering squat, his knees cracking loudly. Shoving his fists into his lower back, he leaned backward with a growl, smirking at the _pop-pop-pop_ that followed.

Deep breath, crisp air inhaled, and he bent over to pick up the dishes. They jangled around in the copper pot as he looped back to the campsite, crunching leaves underfoot.

The fire was in healthy flames when he returned, shining off the tired faces of the knights, who were propped up around its circumference. Merlin stowed the dishes in their traveling sack, glancing about to see what else needed doing.

Wood. The stack was small and dwindling in the chill autumn air. He took another look, _horses fed and cared for, knights fed and cared for, King's bed laid out near the fire_ , and rose reluctantly, headed away from the warmth of the flames and into the dark, damp woods once again.

He was slightly startled to hear a second set of steps trampling leaves. A glance over his shoulder told him it was Leon, and they wordlessly exchanged a small smile before returning their attentions to their feet.

It was easy enough to find the firewood needed amongst the fallen branches of the forest. Both Leon and Merlin were soon loaded with enough fuel to continue the fire through the night. Hefting their burdens, they turned back and headed toward the warmth and light of the campfire.

The journey was quick and painless, and they dumped their armloads in a haphazard pile near the fire, far enough that it wouldn't catch by an accidental spark. Merlin crouched between the pile and the pyre, setting more fuel to catch and prodding it into place with a longer stick.

His surroundings soon faded into weariness, and Merlin only had eyes for the fiery blaze. The crackling wood and play of the flames across the clearing muted the conversation and raucous indulgences of the party. His vision fuzzed at the edges, and filmed over in the middle, and his thoughts flickered with the light.

A hand on his shoulder jolted him out of his thoughts, and a new log tossed into the fire had him jerking backwards, landing on his rump with a crunch of leaves. He shook his head and glanced up at the amused expression on the intruder's face.

"Leon?"

"Got lost with the fey?" Leon commented as he took a seat on a nearby log.

Merlin flushed, though from the fire or being caught out daydreaming was anyone's guess. "S'pose so." He reached a hand to his neck and rubbed it awkwardly.

Silence settled upon the two. Merlin shifted awkwardly and finally sighed. "Was there something you needed, sir?"

Leon frowned. "No."

Another breath. "Then...why are you...here?"

"Keeping you company."

The popping of new logs took over. Merlin shifted awkwardly.

Leon quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're awful quiet today."

A long breath. "Long day."

"Mmmm?"

"Yeah."

A log snapped, revealing glowing embers.

"Merlin?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened today?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said it was a long day."

Merlin side-eyed him quizzically. "I don't recall you ever being this interested in the goings on of Merlin, the servant."

"Eh, not noticeably."

Merlin snorted derisively.

Leon smiled slightly in response. "Your boots are well-travelled, young Merlin," he said with a sigh, sliding down to the ground to lean back against the log. "They go into the poorhouses, the kitchens, the holding cells, and the high towers. Your hands are rarely idle. Nor your wit."

Merlin stared intently into the flames, lips pressed into a thin line.

"You've been serving the Prince for how long, now?"

Merlin shifted uneasily. "Four years? Five?"

"And does he know what you do after you dismiss him?"

"Chores, far as he knows."

Leon sat up and turned to face the young man. "Why don't you tell him what you're doing?"

Merlin snorted. "He'd probably … chide me for not finishing tasks or – or – using my time unwisely."

"Is that really what you think of him?"

Merlin rubbed his neck again. "I don't know what to think sometimes."

"Merlin, what happened today?"

Leon watched, unsurprised, as one tear meandered down the servant's cheek, glistening in the firelight. It dropped off his chin into the darkness

"It just…he…erm…" Merlin took in a shuddering breath, then released it smoothly. "Arthur threw a goblet at me, is all."

"Hit you good, did it?"

"Yeah." He ducked his head, hiding his face from the flames.

Leon took it as an invitation. "Yeah, I see where it got you. Took a nice divot out of your shoulder, there." His fingers glanced off the wound, probing the depth, retreating at a sharp intake of breath from the servant. "Did Gaius see to it?"

A wry chuckle emerged from the bowed head. "Yeah, I totally had time to see Gaius before I had to pack for this adventure, saddle the horses, double check supplies, pack my own bag, and leave for the woods for the week."

There was a moment before Leon gritted out, "Stay here."

Merlin resisted the urge to move or look up, taking time instead to wipe his nose and regulate his breathing. A crunching of leaves told him Leon had returned, and the thump indicated his saddlebags hitting the ground.

Stinging gauze probed the wound, and Merlin hissed in response. The gauze was soon replaced with sticky honey, and a fresh bandage procured. Merlin abashedly lifted his shirt, turning away from the fire light, and helped wrap the bandage quickly over his left shoulder and under his right arm.

"Lots of trouble to go to for a little dent," Merlin muttered, pulling his shirt back over his head, grateful their little debacle had gone unnoticed.

"Better to treat it than let it go and then you die," Leon deadpanned.

Merlin lifted a corner of his mouth. "Thanks."

"Take care of that, okay?"

Only minute hesitation. "Yeah."

* * *

His forefinger rested naturally in the small divot just to the left of his neck.

Lost in thought, he wondered how well he was caring for it.

A used pair of boots sat dejectedly next to his bedroom door.

And a solitary candle flickered in the draft.


	12. Stulorne Blades

_AN: So, Christmas break was taken up by family plans, and I'm dealing with teaching and taking an online course and being cast in a play…so it's a miracle this came out._

 _I promise that I will complete all the scar drabbles. Eventually. It may take a few years but I swear they will get done._

* * *

"You really need to be more careful, Sir Elyan."

Elyan winced as deft hands wrapped a bandage around his head, securing a pad to a gash just above his left eye.

"What happened?"

He grunted, eyes seeking the floor below.

"Was it Arthur?"

The knight moved to stand, shoulders hunched forward. "Thanks, Merlin. Are we done here?"

Merlin pushed him back down on the bench. "No, I need to know how you got that gash. You're smarter than this."

Elyan stared at him without lifting his head. The result was a glare, slightly obscured by the bandage. Merlin crossed his arms and glared right back. "If this gash was from a hard impact, I need to check for concussion. Is your vision fuzzy?"

Elyan glared.

"Does your head hurt?"

Furious silence.

"How many fingers am I holding up?" Merlin waggled his fingers inches from Elyan's face, flicking two, then four, none, all, three, one, in rapid succession. Elyan glowered, snapped his hand out and snatched Merlin's in the air, holding it at an uncomfortable angle for the physician's assistant.

"Five."

The fingers were awkwardly limp in the knight's grasp. Elyan frowned, released his grip, and moved to stand again. Merlin rubbed his wrist, concern rippling his brow.

Elyan paused partway to the door, muttering under his breath.

"What was that?"

A long breath.

"Coward." A shuddering sigh. "He called me a coward."

Merlin was up in a second, shuffling Elyan back to the table again, then bouncing up to stoke the fire and place a pot over the flames.

"You're not, you know."

The knight snorted and sunk deeper into his crossed arms.

"Arthur's just upset. He's mad at himself, and taking it out on you."

Elyan sat listlessly, barely tracking Merlin's progress around the room or his incessant chatter. He started when the pot clanged to the surface inches from his nose, and was surprised to see a plate of honey cakes and Merlin pouring tea into the mugs.

"Gwen's been gone for a week and I haven't seen you touch your meals since." Merlin shoved the plate to the other side of the table. "Eat."

Elyan lingered over the cakes, but gripped his mug and took a sip. His eyebrows lifted in surprise. It was actually kind of good.

"What kind of tea is this?"

"Gentian root and centaury. Little bit of honey."

Elyan took another sip. His fingers wandered to the left and picked up a cake.

Merlin smiled into his mug, taking another sip himself. "You want to talk about it?"

"About what?" Elyan asked around a third bite.

"Gwen. Arthur being a prat. You letting your guard down."

"Not really."

"That's what I thought." Merlin took another sip, then quickly darted a hand across to grab a honey cake. Elyan smacked the back of his hand, but Merlin held the cake next to his head, grinning triumphantly.

After snacking in silence, Elyan having downed four cakes, and finishing their drinks, Merlin poured a second cup for himself and motioned toward Elyan's mug with the pot.

"Thank you, but no."

"How about that finger test again?" Merlin flicked up his fingers and Elyan grinned.

"Two."

"Very good!" But Elyan started to frown again, grabbing Merlin's hand a second time.

Merlin sighed, mind obviously elsewhere, worried about relapse or getting back to his duties, but Elyan held on and turned the hand over to study his fingers.

"What's this?"

Merlin quirked an eyebrow in excellent imitation of his mentor. "A hand, I think. Are you all right?"

"No, you dolt, THIS." Elyan traced the line on Merlin's forefinger then shoved it into his face.

Merlin studied the finger curiously. A dark pink line ran half an inch from the middle of the finger pad past the first knuckle. Where did…

"Well, you must be doing all right if you can see that. I can't even remem…Oh."

"Oh?"

"Stulorne blades."

Elyan squinted at him. "When did you run into Stulorne blades? Those are rare – and difficult to make – and dangerous – and magical…"

"Oh, you know, the melee. Some idiots thought they could try to kill Arthur. Again."

Elyan stopped for a brief moment, then threw back his head and laughed, teeth glinting white with his smile. He ruffled Merlin's hair affectionately. "Not with you around," he declared between chuckles.

Merlin straightened up a little. "Nah," he agreed, "not with me around."

* * *

An old man rubbed his two fingers against his thumb, feeling the faint divot of an old memory, of pain, and loss, and friends too easily departed. He barely felt the wind biting into his neck as he looked across a span of water toward the ruins of a tower.

 _Soon._


	13. Whip

Chapter 13 – Whip

 _AN: It took me a while to figure out how to write this one, and between work and summer activities, I haven't had the foresight to sit down and figure it out. Sorry again about the absence!_

* * *

Merlin perched on his chair near Gaius' fireplace, a mound of cloth in his lap and his back to the door.

 _Shick…shick…shick…_

The needle guided thread confidently through the tear in the cloth. Merlin tied off the thread, tested the mend, then with satisfaction, clipped the thread with the scissors lying on the nearby bench. He shook out the cloth, revealing a pair of pants.

 _Snip._

"Merlin?"

The young man yelped in surprise, turning violently and gripping the piece of freshly-mended clothing to his chest. Seeing his visitor, he let out a sigh of relief.

"I didn't hear you come in, Lancelot." He leaned down to slide the trousers over his legs. "Did you need something?"

Lancelot eyed him curiously, watching as the young warlock tied his trousers into place. "Yes, I have to admit, I got a bit turned around in the castle, and this is the only place I can reliably find."

Merlin dusted off his thighs and straightened. "Ah, yes, the castle is overwhelmingly large. Where were you trying to go?"

Lance blushed. "My chambers."

"Well, you did only get them assigned in the past few weeks. It's only fair you get lost a few times a day," Merlin teased. "All right, from here you go out to the corridor, turn left, take the third staircase up one flight, turn right, then down a half flight and…"

Lance's brow had wrinkled.

"You know what, I'll take you."

The new knight brightened up and laid a friendly hand on Merlin's shoulder. "Thank you, friend."

Merlin held the door open for Lancelot and closed it carefully behind them. "Defeated by corridors. Not afraid of griffins, bandits, or sorceresses, but of the terrifying indoors."

"Hey, be nice. At least I don't have to scrounge for my own food any more. So long as I can find the kitchens!"

Their laughter mingled down the echoing corridor. As they ascended a flight of stairs, Lance following his animated guide, he noticed an anomaly in his friend's wardrobe.

"Did you rip your pants, Merlin?"

Merlin instinctively grabbed the place he'd recently mended. "Uhm, sort of."

Lance studied the spot when Merlin finally let go. "It's good work. You can barely tell there was a tear there."

"Would you stop looking at my butt?"

Lance laughed and hastened to walk by Merlin's side as they arrived on the next floor. He playfully swung his arm and smacked the mended area.

Merlin yelped in pain.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, are you okay? I didn't mean to hit so hard," Lance babbled, as Merlin rubbed the spot and hung his head low, striding quickly down the corridor. The knight had to double his effort to keep up, footsteps echoing in the silence.

"It's…It's fine, Lance. Just, watch your strength, yeah?" Merlin finally pushed out, cheeks red with embarrassment.

"I really am sorry."

"I know you are. It's not your fault."

Lance shot him a quizzical glance. "What's not my fault?"

Merlin looked back with wide eyes and thin, pressed lips. "Uh, nothing. You know, you just…say stuff, you know. Let's get you to your room." He decidedly headed down the corridor, leaving Lance to catch up.

He pulled abreast with Merlin easily. "Did someone hurt you?"

Merlin didn't answer.

"Was it Arthur?"

"No!"

Lance growled. "I'll rip him to shreds, I don't care if I get banished again…"

"No, Lance! It wasn't Arthur. It was two idiots during the tournament with a whip who thought it was a great excuse to bully the castle staff and they're both gone or dead or something and it's not a big deal and I'm fine!"

"A WHIP? Who whips a servant for FUN?"

Merlin gave him a withering glare. "More than you'd think. It's been a month so can we move on?"

"A MONTH? How does it still hurt after a month?"

"I've been…busy. Even forgot to mend my trousers until I felt the wind getting frisky."

"But…"

"My butt is fine. Can't even see the scar."

"You have a SCAR?"

Merlin turned an exasperated sigh onto Lancelot. "I realize this is your way of making up for being gone for several years, but you really need to calm down."

"But…"

"Here's your room." Merlin pulled open a door, and Lance stepped inside to see familiar furnishings. The warlock closed the door firmly behind them and took a calming breath.

"Lancelot, you know about my talents and my prophecy. I am supposed to help Arthur return magic to the realm. If you think I can go about that without getting hurt from time to time, you really need to come back to reality.

"You are not my mom.

"You are not my dad.

"You cannot protect me from everything, especially when magic is involved, and especially as a knight to a servant. I know you want to, but you _can't._ "

Lancelot stared at Merlin for a few long moments, then abruptly turned and strode toward the fireplace. With a hand on the mantle, he stared into the flames.

Merlin stood by the closed door, fidgeting.

Finally, Lance spoke.

"Can we still be friends?"

Merlin rushed to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Of course we can still be friends! You're my best friend!" He stuttered to a stop. "You…you just have to remember that you can't fix everything."

Lance looked at him seriously. "You can't fix everything either."

* * *

His friend's words echoed around the dusty chambers of his mind as he stared at the crumbling ruin on the island. He clenched his weary hands into fists and bowed his wizened head, letting the tears escape from his broken soul.


	14. Dart

Chapter 14 – Dart

 _I do not own Merlin._

 _AN: Wow, I'm a jerk for not getting this written sooner. I apologize. Depression'll do that to ya. I'm doing better and feel more motivated to write. I'm not even half done with the chapters I've got planned for this, and I promise they'll get there – even if it takes a few years. Thank you for the reviews and all the follows – I am flabbergasted, and honored by you all. Thank you! ~Reject_

Geoffrey rounded the shelves with ease, weaving in and out of the maze of shelves meditatively. The closing of the library was one of his most cherished rituals, and with each step and turn, he became more settled and content. _Three…two…one…and left…_

His peaceful aura was shattered as he made a turn about halfway through his routine, and stopped cold at the sight of a ragged young servant asleep at a study desk, drooling over an 8th century manuscript without a care.

Fury rose in the librarian's chest, displacing the peace he'd been building with a heavy anger. With a low growl, he stepped out of his careworn path to roughly shake awake the young man.

The flicker of a candle stopped his hand inches from Merlin's shoulder. It caught in an odd divot on his neck, casting a mottled shadow as it reached for the knot in his kerchief.

A puncture wound.

Geoffrey pulled back, a frown creasing his forehead. All who lived in the castle were more than aware of Merlin's accompanying the prince on his quests and hunting trips, but Geoffrey had always dismissed the fantastical storytelling as the boastings of men too young to be wise. Could this be proof of otherwise?

He examined the divot as best he could without waking the servant. Yes….yes, it did seem to appear as though the young man had been shot with a dart. Some type of sedative or paralytic, Geoffrey recalled from his young days as a knight, for what else would an enemy use a dart for? Ah, he did have fond memories of those lectures of Gaius', as he tried to train the knights in field aid and identifying dangerous plants… Well, they were both younger then, weren't they. And Geoffrey had always been more interested in reading than riding….Oh, the memories of youth.

Merlin stirred under him, clearing his throat and blinking bleary eyes. The librarian caught the exact moment the boy noticed him looming there, and with quickly widening eyes, he shot straight up in his chair, too cramped by the librarian's presence to actually get out of the desk. Merlin surreptitiously wiped the drool off the corner of his mouth, his eyes widening again at the height of the candle on the desk.

"I'm…I'm sorry, sir!" Merlin scrambled to his feet, doing his best to avoid running into Geoffrey and get out of his seat without displacing any items on the desk. He failed on both counts, landing the chair on Geoffrey's foot and knocking the manuscript he'd been studying and a bottle of quills onto the floor. The servant froze at the withering look of disapproval the librarian shot him.

"Sorry for what, Merlin?" Geoffrey asked in a dangerously even tone.

"I'm sorry for falling asleep in your cav – LIBRARY, and forgoing my duties this evening for the prince and Gaius?"

"And?"

Merlin cleared his throat. "Uh….."

"And getting WATER DAMAGE on a three-hundred-year-old vellum manuscript?!" Geoffrey bellowed, breathing so heavily he felt as though he might burst into flames.

Merlin blanched. "….Y-y-yes, that…I'm sorry."

"You just better hope I can salvage it and there's no lasting damage, young man." The ice in his voice cracked a warning.

The servant looked down at his feet, and seeing the mess on the floor must have spurred him to action, for he dove to the ground and straightened out the manuscript (Geoffrey could have sworn he was talking to himself), and placed each quill back in the bottle.

Merlin set the quills back on the desk and handed the manuscript to Geoffrey carefully. "Is it all right, sir?" he asked, his voice a bit pitchy in hope or nerves, Geoffrey did not care to speculate.

The librarian scrutinized the manuscript for any darkened patch, smeared ink, or wrinkling.

It was pristine. Almost better than the day he'd acquired it. He lowered the page to scrutinize the raven-haired lad in front of him, eyes furrowed with skeptical study.

Merlin shifted under his gaze, hands unsettled as they twisted, went to his pockets, back out to clasp behind his back, then front again to scratch one at his neck, the other deep in a front pocket.

"Settle yourself, lad. You're lucky it's undamaged." Merlin brightened at this. "But I'd better not find you sleeping over my manuscripts again!"

"Thank you, sir. You won't, sir. I promise, sir!"

Geoffrey waved a hand at him lazily. "Yes, yes, enough. Get to your master, boy. It's late."

"Yes, sir. Thank you!" And the lad was off like a shot.

"Careful!" Geoffrey shouted after him, earning a clattering sound in response.

"Sorry, I got it, I got it!"

The librarian sighed, then turned to blow out the candle.

* * *

It looked almost like a freckle, marring the clear skin on his neck. It had faded, smoothed out, camouflaged itself in the surface until it barely make an impression on any who knew him.

Much like himself, he supposed.

The time was coming when he would no longer live in camouflage. He could feel it in the earth, in the messages of seagulls, in the whispering pines.

The exact moment hung in the balance. For now, he would stay in hiding.


	15. Chill

_AN: Originally, I had planned for this one to be Merlin suffering alone – because, angst. Needless to say, it got away from me. Hope it warms you during this cold season!_

He was always cold, these days. No surprise – the wind crept through cracks in crumbling mortar and creaked through doorways and down stairwells. The chill hung heavy in the air and dampened the busyness of the castle and the town, quickening steps and quieting lips. You could almost touch the silence and the stillness, frozen with fingertips and toes.

Merlin doubled further into his coat, shivering as he stuffed his hands into his armpits. He trudged across the courtyard. Snow stuck to his eyelashes, and he even felt his eyeballs cool. He hastened into the castle and the warmth of a fireplace.

Indoors, out, it didn't matter. He could control the chattering of his teeth and the knocking of his knees, but the shiver of his arms was always there.

The fireplace in Arthur's rooms were as good a place as any, and he settled down to get some work done. Gooseflesh pimpled up along his exposed forearms, making itself an almost permanent residence burrowed in his skin.

 _If I could only get warm…_

The flames danced across his vision, searing into his mind's eye, but barely glancing off his skin. He had a vision of being surrounded by the fireplace, happily thawing in the middle.

The vision's fireplace quickly turned into a pyre.

The remembered shriek of the Doracha filled his mind and he flinched, as it mingled with the cry of the multiple sorcerers he'd seen executed.

The morbid thought taunted him. _If you confess, you might be warm again. However briefly._ A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth, but he kept polishing, deliberately keeping his eyes away from the flames, even as they flickered in the shield's mirror, even as the cries echoed in his thoughts.

 _It's just winter._

Whmf, whmf, whmf.

 _I'll thaw out come spring._

Whmf, whmf, thump.

The cloth fell from his fingertips as Arthur tromped inside, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Weather's getting worse."

"W-w-worse?"

Arthur spared him a glance as he swung his cloak onto a chair. "Yes, worse. It always gets worse after Yule." He slowly removed his gloves, finger by finger, and threw them to the table.

"I know." Merlin flexed his fingers and inspected the shield, then set it aside. It clanked softly against the wall. Merlin reached for a new piece of armor, his arms trembling.

CLANG!

The shield toppled with a clatter, startling Merlin to a yelp.

"What is the MATTER with you!" Arthur yelped, crouched back against the table, using a chair to balance.

Merlin cut his eyes at the king. "What's the matter with YOU? T-t-tromping in here, loud as you please, and d-d-dripping SNOW everywhere! C-c-can't you dry off when you enter the c-c-castle instead of in here?"

They glared at each other, neither backing down, until Merlin was forced to look away by a mighty sneeze. Arthur snorted.

"That'll wake the dead."

"At least they'll be on our s-side, then."

"With your germs? No way."

"At least I d-don't…summon elephants with my footsteps!"

"Your sneezes would double as a mating call!"

"I'm sure they would find you a worthy spouse, Your Rotundness!"

"Don't call me FAT!"

Merlin did his best to suppress his smirk, but failed miserably. He slapped both hands across his mouth and let out a deep chortle at the red-faced rage in front of him. Arthur growled, and in a second, he gripped Merlin by the back of the neck. The servant flinched, scrunching his head down and back, but Arthur quickly released him.

"Why are you so COLD?" He rubbed his hands together and warmed them toward the fire.

"It's….winter?"

"You've been sitting so close to the fireplace I thought you'd burn."

Merlin flinched. "It's…winter."

"No, you're unnaturally cold. This is ridiculous."

"It's WINTER."

Arthur, instead of retorting, grabbed on of Merlin's hands, eyes wide. "Your fingers are freezing and your neck is like ice. This is NOT NORMAL."

"IT'S WINTER."

"I'm taking you to Gaius. This is ridiculous. Don't you have a hat? A coat? Gloves?"

"Why?"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at him. "For…WINTER?" The King pulled his servant by the forearm behind him, thumping down the hallways.

Merlin was silent for half of the trip to the physician's chambers.

"Mom usually makes my winter stuff. I…haven't been home in a while. Since my other stuff…wore out."

Arthur's step stuttered. He came to a full stop for half a minute. Merlin could almost see the gears grinding. Suddenly, he renewed his step even more vigorously, almost giving his servant whiplash as they briskly trotted through the winding corridors.

"Gaius?" Arthur hollered before the door was even open.

The physician turned with a long-suffering sigh, holding tools in both hands. "This better be important, sire."

"Uh…."

 _Merlin's cold_ sounded ridiculous.

He sniffed pompously.

"Merlin's cold."

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "It's winter?"

"Ridiculously, unnaturally cold."

"He's a peasant, sire. He hasn't the coin for food, clothing, and fuel as you have."

Arthur pushed Merlin at Gaius. "Just…feel him."

Gaius sighed, placed his tools carefully on the bench, and wiped his hands on a cloth. Arthur searched his face for any concern as the physician felt along Merlin's neck, hands, and torso.

There was none.

"Yes, sire, he is cold, but nothing unusual. Merlin, has it gotten worse?"

Arthur noticed the shifty glance his servant gave him. "Uh, no, Gaius."

Gaius turned Merlin and gently pushed him back to Arthur. "He is no colder than usual and, by his own admission, has not had any worsening symptoms from his encounter with the Dorocha."

" _Gaius."_

Gaius ignored the hissed warning as he turned back to his tools. "Merlin, I told you that if you didn't tell him yourself, I would."

" _Gai-us!"_

Arthur almost laughed at hearing Merlin whine childishly.

"You are completely irresponsible when taking care of your own health, and the promise you made to TELL US when something is wrong still stands."

Merlin crossed his arms and _pouted._ "I don't ever recalling making any such promise."

"Scar on your chin."

"Back full of bruises."

"Concussion."

"Big giant vase broken over you during the troll incident."

Gaius chuckled. "Obviously the king and I remember even if you refuse to do so, Merlin, so I suggest you start telling him things."

Merlin sighed at looked at Arthur, petulant, but resigned to his fate. "Fine. Sorry. I'm still cold from the Dorocha. I don't have any winter clothes because I haven't been home to see my mother in two years. And I HATE winter and I HATE being cold."

Arthur raised an eyebrow.

"Not you, too."

Maintaining eye contact with his servant, the king crossed his arms. "Gaius, do you have anything for Merlin's affliction?"

"His mental affliction or the one by the Dorocha?"

"Either." Merlin stuck out his tongue.

"The former, I'm afraid, cannot be remedied. However, I do have a draught for the latter, one that Merlin has been avoiding for the past week." Gaius glanced over his glasses.

"But it's gross!"

Gaius made a _tsk, tsk_ with his tongue. Arthur continued to raise an eyebrow at Merlin.

"Merlin, go drink your draught."

He sighed, he shifted, he rolled his eyes, but when Gaius passed him the bottle and tapped it against his elbow, eyes still on his own work, Merlin took it and halfheartedly unstoppered the vial. He took a breath, shivered again, and knocked it back.

"Blech! Bluh…gah! Ugh, Gaius. It's so…." His whole body shook once, violently. "Can I have some water?"

Without waiting for a response, Merlin walked over to the water bucket near the fireplace and drained two dippers. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he turned back to face the room.

"Merlin, do you need to go home and see your mother?"

His servant slowly met the king's eyes, his own wide and shining.

"I…" He inhaled sharply. "My…my place is with you, sire."

"Do you want to go home to see your mother?"

"I…."

"You didn't get Yule off and you took off only half of the next day. I have no tournaments, feasts, or important meetings planned in the next two weeks. It's too cold for marauders of any breed and, however unlikely, your help in preventing any attacks are minimal to none."

Arthur took a step in toward Merlin. He waved his hand vaguely toward his servant's bedroom. "Go. Pack. Leave tomorrow with a horse and take a week to visit your mother. I'll expect you to wake me up eight mornings from now." He turned and reaching the door, opened it to exit, but paused. He glanced back at Merlin. "I'll send notice to the quartermaster and cook for extra supplies. Be sure to stop by in the morning before you leave."

He firmly shut the door behind him, but it didn't prevent him from hearing Merlin's exclamation.

"What?"

Then,

"But…but I need to pack!"

And soon after,

"I can't!"

Gaius' quiet murmurs didn't penetrate the wooden door, but a series of thumps indicated a wild romp up the stairs and the panicked packing of goods.

Arthur straightened from pressing his ear against to the door, smiled to himself, and whistled almost the entire way back to his chambers. He had some messages to write.

* * *

The wind whipped wildly through the air, grasping at hairs and swirling the snow, obscuring the path. A glint of gold shone through the white-blind scene, and soon, a young man stumbled out of the blankness and against the corner of a building. He shivered, gasped, and searched forward, one hand against the rough wood, and the other guarding his face. Snow clumped against his blue knit cap, his pack, and in every crevice. He guided himself around each corner of the building, finally finding an entrance.

He knocked violently, rattling the door and its latch. Without waiting for a response, he pushed the door open and slammed it behind him, breathing heavily in the sudden stillness.

"Oh! Please, come warm yourself by the fire," a warm voice welcomed.

The intruder squinted, moved toward the hearth, and settled quietly. As he started unwrapping the scarf from his neck, he slowly looked around, blinking slowly.

His heart thudded in his chest.

"Here, let me help you." Hands deftly opened the layers, exposing his body to the heat.

"Thanks." He shucked his sodden clothing, nodding when instructed to hang them on the line hanging near the fireplace.

"Here, I've got some dry clothes and a towel. Go ahead and get dry, and I'll be back in a few minutes with something warm to drink."

He nodded again, and obeyed sluggishly, pulling the blanket over his shoulders as the voice returned.

He focused his sight enough to see curly dark hair and a golden complexion as the woman placed a mug in his hand.

"How did you find this place? You're really very lucky to have found me in the middle of this blizzard."

"Where am I?"

"You stumbled on a park ranger cabin. You're in the middle of Snowdonia National Park. You're lucky to not have broken your neck getting here."

He grunted in response.

"Do you have anyone I need to call for you?"

He stared at the contents of the mug, swirling the brown substance.

"Is anyone waiting for you? Knows you're out and needs to know you're safe?"

He sipped at the mug. Hot chocolate. Bit of cinnamon. "No."

She sighed.

"What's your name?"

"Gwen."

His heart stopped as he looked into her smiling eyes, and _knew_.


End file.
